Regular Sorrow
by BlakeyBoy
Summary: Two years have past since the apocalypse swept over the nation, a deadly virus plaguing the living by becoming the dead. The group from the park, however, has yet to give in, searching for shelter and the fabled 'cure,' but with Mordecai in a deteriorating bout of depression and Skips slowly losing his sanity, will they ever find a place to call home? Rated M for gore and language.
1. The Journey Ahead

It had been almost two years since it happened. A cold wind blew through the streets, picking up a few loose leaves as it made its way across the city. All was still, only the sound of the cool autumn wind gently breezing by. Wrecked and torn cars lined the streets, blood caking the road around them. Fallen power lines, once quite dangerous and spitting flickering lights, now sat still, writhed in coils on the ground. A few buildings still stood, the rest either skeletal remains or ashes scattered across the country. The sun was slowly fading to nothing, revealing the moon, peeking over the horizon faintly. Tall grass and small trees portruded from the cracked roads, dotting the once thriving town. At the end of the way, a steel, gated arch led down a narrow, overgrown path of weeds and gravel, revealing a destroyed fountain and several benches, coated in dried blood. As the path continued up the road, it continually grew in size, leading up to a driveway of some sort. At the end of it stood a large, two story house, worn and damaged from the events of the apocalypse. An overturned golf-cart sat in front of the house, wrecked beyond repair, and an old trailer stood nearby, though it hadn't fared as lucky as the house; The door, though very damaged, functioned, not letting anything in. However, the walls were torn apart, rendering the door futile. Several decomposed corpses sat motionless on the floor, caked in blood and covered in several flesh wounds. The stench would've been unbearable if it hadn't been for the cold, dry fall, leaving the trailer almost odor free. The house itself beside the trailer was beaten and worn, however, it still stood, ready for a siege. The front door, which looked as though the paint had been chipped off by persistent fingernails, slowly creaked open, revealing a slender figure in the dark. He stepped forward, revealing himself to be a red gumball machine gripping a Colt 1911 in his hand tightly. His nose slightly drooped down, and his unblinking eyes showed he had never been a very cheerful person.

Behind him, another stepped forward, a lollipop-shaped man by appearance. He wore a blood drenched suit, and a coarse beard now coated the entirety of his spherical head. His eyes showed no joy, no happiness, though a strange glint in them seemed to tell the truth; He had not always been this way, a hardened old man, immune to even the most horrid of sights. That slight glimmer in his eye showed the faint feeling of innocence, and naivety, once a jolly, carefree and, might I even say, kind, person. Whatever his previous state, he was not that man now. That man died long ago, being replaced by what was now necessary to survive. The thin, round-headed man held a combat shotgun loosely to his shoulder, meticulously peeking around the gumball machine. He then spoke.

"Benson," he squeaked in a tiny voice, not matching the sorrowful expression permanently imprinted on his face. "Are they out there? They should've been back by now,"

"I know, Pops. I'm worried too..." the gumball machine retorted, scanning the area and gripping the handgun close. In the distance, a muscular white figure emerged sprinting, an automatic rifle blazing hordes of creatures further behind him. Running alongside him stood a tall blue-jay, at least 6 feet in height, a portly green man sporting a baseball bat and a mullet, and a small brown raccoon, screaming. As the figure got closer, he was revealed to be what looked like a very muscular yeti, and his pace wasn't quite a sprint, but _a skip. _The blue-jay, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, wore an expression of fear on his face, blood coating his frilled feathers. The raccoon expressed the same look of fear as the bird, albeit it more panicked. The green man showed no fear, the bloody ball bat proving this. The way he carried himself showed him to be quite athletic, but he appears mildly obese. As the trio made their way closer to the house, many demonic-looking creatures appeared on the horizon, several dropping at a time. Their eyes were sunken into their heads and their putrid, sallow skin smelled like it was rotting. Several bullets from the yeti's AK-47 tore through the creatures, leaving some of them dead, others not even affected. They were relentless, taking dozens of bits of hot lead before finally succumbing to their injuries, like inhuman creatures, more or less, zombies. As the yeti expended his last clip of ammunition, he realized that at least half a dozen of the monsters still stood.

A split-second before one of the zombies was able to lunge, it found itself at the business end of Benson's Colt. A loud bang resonated through the area as the yeti turned to see his friend.

"Thought you could use a hand?" he said with a slight grin. The yeti chuckled.

"Or two!" exclaimed Pops, firing off at least 8 rounds into the crowd of undead. Once the lead stopped flying and Pop's triggerfinger only released a click, they knew it was over. The blue-jay turned, relieved that it was over.

"Thank god you came, Benson. We were outnumbered, and if it wasn't for Skips offering to come along, we would've been dead long before now," he sighed in relief.

"It was nothing, Mordecai. Did you get any food?" Benson asked. Before Mordecai had time to respond, the raccoon spoke up.

"Nothing, man. The stores are bled dry. There's nothing left out there for us to find!" Rigby, as they called him, said.

"We're going to have to move soon, or else we'll starve," replied Skips, his white fur stained slightly with blood. The green man, now over the intense event entirely, then spoke up.

"You know who else has to move or they'll starve?" The others looked at him in pure disgust. His goofy smirk turned to a sorry expression in seconds, and he silently apologized for his rude gesture. After several moments in silence, Mordecai spoke up.

"We have enough food in the pantry for another few days, 3 at the most. Tonight, we can stay here, but we'll have to leave by tomorrow so we have enough food for the trip," his plan seemed intelligent.

"Mordecai's right. We can't stay here much longer," Benson replied. "Tomorrow, everyone needs to pack as much food and ammunition as we can, because we're heading out."

"Uh, I don't mean to spoil your moment, bro," the green man spoke. "But where exactly are we gonna go?"

"Muscle Man is right, Benson. Where _are _we gonna go?" questioned Rigby. Before Benson could speak, Skips did for him.

"There's another town a few miles over by the name of Bloomington. I heard when this first started, they were trying to get a colony established up there, you know. Easier to protect everyone at once," Everyone's ears perked to hear the yeti speak. "I'm sorry to say that most, if not all of them are dead now," his friend's eyes grew dim, saddened by the news. "But that doesn't mean it isn't ripe for the taking! They have plenty of rations up there, along with military-grade weapons and ammunition. The stockpiles there could last us for years, assuming it isn't infested." his words seemed to make the group perk up a bit, but not much. Benson then tried to convince them of his friend's plan.

"Skips has a great idea here. The risk of it being overrun is fairly high, but what choice do we have? It's either we starve here or take our chances there. Not much room for anything in-between, got that guys?" all his former employees nodded in agreement, not that they had much of a choice. "Good. Let's get some rest, for tomorrow there is a journey ahead of us. A long one at that, so we must be prepared. Everyone go inside and get some sleep," his speech didn't seem to improve anyone's spirits or hopes, as they all seemed the same as before, but they followed his commands anyway, stepping into the worn house to get a few hours of sleep, which all of them knew they wouldn't.

Rigby jumped onto his trampoline matress, kicking aside a few piles of his dirty clothes, coated in a layer of filth he couldn't even comprehend. Mordecai slowly fell to his bed, a deep look of sorrow burnt onto his face. Rigby knew what was to happen, as Mordecai seemed depressed every night since the dead had risen. As his eyes slowly made a futile attempt to fall into slumber, Rigby could hear a silent sobbing, almost inaudible, from his friend's bedside. He casually glanced over to him, wanting only for him to have happiness and forget what could have been. As the raccon turned, he could then make out the words he had heard every night for two years, hushed only by his friend's sobbing. The words that meant nothing to Rigby meant everything to Mordecai as he lied alone, tears not comforting him in the least. The last chant of Mordecai's words seemed to let Rigby drift off, albeit it slowly, but he continued.

_"W-Why didn't I tell you...Margaret..."_


	2. Bumps In The Night

** Thank you for the reviews. I ask that if you want me to continue the story, or just want to leave me some feedback (which I highly encourage,) please do. Thanks! -Blake**

BANG! A loud thud in the night shook the house, causing Benson's eyes to stir to life. Crashes could be heard from downstairs, meaning that either someone or something was causing quite a ruckus. Benson's hand slid slowly from his satin sheets toward the drawer, grabbing his handgun. In an instant, he had his wall to the door taking cover, ready for attack. After several instense seconds, he peeked out towards the desolate hall. Nothing. He crouched as he made his way across the empty halls, for his assailant might see his shadow on approach. Knowing full well he could never be too careful, he slowed his pace to mere inches per second. As he drew nearer to the stairwell, the sound from downstairs became much more clear; Sounds of heavy breathing and furniture being knocked over echoed through the house. A few more grunts could be heard as Benson finally mustered up the courage to peer over the guard rail. Several broken plates and torn furniture lined the room from end to end, but no one was there. Just as Benson began his descension, he felt a cold hand reach his shoulder.

"GAH!" he screeched, turning to the surprise attacker. However, he quickly realized it was only Pops, having heard the noise too, going to investigate. He still donned his pajamas and sleeping cap. Before the two could question each other, another loud crash could be heard from downstairs. In a few seconds, Benson and Pops found themselves downstairs, observing the rubble. An unhinged door sat in front of them, and they slowly made their approach. A grandfather clock shattered at their feet, startling them both and causing Benson to raise his firearm. What he saw when he raised it shocked him. "S-Skips?" The yeti stood unbalanced, a glazed look in one eye. His mouth seemed quite wet as he salivated onto the floor, and his torn jeans showed a few stains of blood. The entire kitchen was destroyed, the only thing preserved being the food. The duo stared ominously at their obviously disgruntled friend, waiting. After a few moments of silence, Pops finally spoke up.

"Skips, my good man," As if in correction of his statement, he shook his head in disapproval of his statement and restarted. "Erm..Skips, I mean...what is the matter?" Staring vacantly at the wall, Skips provided no response. "Skips?" he again called. After a few strange grunts, he finally came to, shaking his head and hitting the floor in obvious pain.

"...What-what happened?" he managed out, expecting an explanation for his own predicament.

"We don't know," Benson replied. "We found you down here destroying things and thought you were something else," he stammered, finally lowering his pistol. "I think something's wrong with your head, Skips." The yeti ignored him, standing up.

"I'm fine, nothing's wrong with me," he lied through gritted teeth. Before his friends could argue, he dusted himself off and left in a hurry, providing no information to them. Pops looked at Benson with a sorrowful look on his face, then spoke.

"It pains me to see our home destroyed like this, but we must move on. I feel as though we should leave tonight, Benson." his expression showed vigilance. Benson's eyes narrowed.

"That's suicide! We can't leave tonight, it's too dangerous!" Benson retorted, his normally purple gumballs turning a light shade of scarlet. Before he had time to supply more reasons for staying, he was directed to the wall by Pops. A gaping hole, at least six feet in width, now stood where the wall used to be. Benson's hopes dropped, as he realized that staying here was now the most dangerous place to be. Before he could speak, Pops supplied more information.

"Also, I'm afraid our friend Skips is in a deteriorating state. He may be a danger to himself and others, so we may have to weigh our options and consider leaving now..." Benson stopped and looked up.

_"Now? And leave him?"_ Benson stammered.

"I'm afraid so..." Benson's expression turned to blind fury in an instant.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Pops? Listen to yourself! You and I both know you aren't that type of person! How could you even _consider _leaving Skips here to die?!" Pops suddenly felt small. "That's just not..." Pops looked up from the floor at his enraged friend.

"Not what?" Benson's eyes turned a dark shade of red as several blood vessels popped in his head.

"NOT FUCKING HUMAN!" he screeched as loud as he could, not caring about anything other than proving a point to his uncaring friend. Pop's eyes grew wider as he puckered his lips. Benson's blind rage quickly simmered to nothing as his fists lowered to his side. A single tear slid down Pop's face as he hit his knees in agony.

"I'm so sorry, Benson!" he weeped. "I don't know why I did that, I used to be the most caring, but now I am nothing!" he cried through muffled sobs. "I am not who I once was, my friend. And for that, I apologize. I don't know who I am..." tears trickled into his overgrown beard. Benson suddenly felt an emotion he hadn't in years; pity. As Pop's cupped his hands over his eyes, he spoke again. "I don't know who I am anymore..." the tears were rolling. Benson, for the first time in years, was overcome by emotion. He noticed the gun in his hand and carefully tossed it aside before patting Pops' back.

"None of us do, Pops. _None of us do..."_

** Thanks for reading you guys, and please review! Also, I apologize if this chapter is too short or boring with no action, but the next will definitely make up for that in action, I promise! Thanks!**


	3. The Quick and The Dead

The cool autumn air pierced the group's sullen faces as they trudged through the stormy night. A thick layer of fog coated the immediate area around all of them, limiting their sight to only a few feet, the storm also severely handicapping their vision. Benson led the group, his handgun gripped tightly, along with a flickering lantern he kept in his left hand. The others followed closely behind, each one on edge, even though it was two A.M.

"Keep it tight, guys. We don't want to lose sight of each other in this fog," Benson informed them. They kept on, nearly getting stuck in the sludge the storm had created, and for a while, nothing of real importance happened, just the six of them silently making their way through the night. Pop's combat shotgun held two rounds, only to be used for an absolute emergency, and Benson's 1911 was down to it's last clip. The AK-47 Skips had used the day before only held one magazine, forcing them to leave it behind in order to keep the weight bearing on Skips from being too much. Muscle Man knew his way around a rifle all too well, but for lack of ammunition and Pop's need for a weapon, he opted to use the baseball once again, not minding much. Mordecai held two small knives in either hand, waiting for the imminent attack ahead, whereas Rigby simply tagged along as deadweight, only carrying a weak flashlight that could possibly be used as a last-ditch club.

"Stop..." Benson halted his group. "Did any of you catch that?"

"Catch what, bro?" Muscle Man questioned silently.

"I heard it, too," Pops replied. "It was a dull moan, not too far away..."

"SHH..." Benson shushed them. "It's getting closer..." A nearly inaudible groan could be heard a distance away, though it was growing steadily closer. "No guns, it'll only attract more...Muscle Man?"

"I got this, bro," the green man stepped forward into a batter's position, waiting for the zombie to approach. Several seconds passed as the groans drew nearer, and just as they seemed to be about ten feet away, they stopped. An eerie silence engulfed the group as Muscle Man inaudibly gulped his throat, waiting for the attack. A strange snarl emanated from somewhere in the night, and the silence broke as dozens of footsteps could be heard moving toward the group, _sprinting._ "We're outnumbered, man!" Muscle Man screeched, lowering the bat and turning tail. Several silhouettes and figures of the undead appeared from everywhere, howling and groaning as if in constant pain.

"Everyone stay together! If we scatter we'll just-" Benson was cut off as a cold hand gripped his shoulder in a vise, putrid fingernails scratching his body. He let loose a wail, but was able to overcome his assailant, totally flipping the zombie over his body before stomping it's brains in with his foot. Several more of the undead filed through the thick fog, diverging on all of the group, no bias towards one or another. Muscle Man soon found himself encircled by four of the undead, each now making their way towards him. With a quick flash, two of them were knocked out cold from the sheer power behind his power-hit.

"You know who else hates zombies?" he spoke to no one in particular. "MY MOM!" he schreeched a bloodcurdling cry before smashing one of the zombies in the chest with the bat, then kicking it onto its back with his combat boots. The other was quick, grabbing hold of his arm, but in a moment of sheer athleticism, he literally broke it's already decomposed jaw in half with a well-planted haymaker. The monster hit the ground, injured, but alive. As it began to make it's way up, Muscle Man made sure it didn't by planting his bat through it's ribcage, spattering bits of gore everywhere.

The two zombies pursuing Mordecai found themselves in trouble when he planted one of his knives into each of their eyesockets. One fell to the ground quickly, suffering severe brain trauma and dying before it hit the ground, but the second still stood, Mordecai having barely missed the brain. "Shit," he muttered, afraid of his fate. The monster shambled for its victim, knife handle portruding from it's eye, and lunged forward. As it made its way for Mordecai's neck, a flash of brown passed before his eyes. When the dust settled from the zombie hitting the ground, Mordecai saw Rigby laying uninjured in the grass, having tackled the zombie to the ground and jamming the knife even further into its head by accident. The bird let a slight smile loose, which quickly turned to an expression of fear as a large monster made its way behind his friend.

"DUDE, LOOK O-" Crunch. It was too late, as the behemoth zombie, possibly that of a morbidly obese man before reanimation, had already sunk its teeth into his best friend's arm. Rigby let out a high pitch squeal before Mordecai sent one of his blades through its head, killing it instantly. The death grip and teeth on Rigby's right arm were immediately released as the zombie hit the ground with a thud, revealing a flesh wound with blood pouring out onto him, a quite horrendous sight. "It's ok, everything is gonna be fine," he responded promptly to his hurting friend as he carefully picked him up and carried him towards the bathrooms. Slamming the door shut and locking it, Mordecai looked over the wound carefully.

Skips was no stranger to combat, having lived through the revolutionary war, World Wars 1 AND 2, Korea, and Vietnam. Though he hadn't exactly been a _part of_ all of them, he sure knew how to participate. With no weapons in sight, the yeti picked up several large rocks, cupping them in his left arm to his chest as he picked off the relentless undead one by one. They continually dropped from his large projectiles, however continued to stand, not withstaining any damage. As the distance between them grew shorter, Skips' tosses got harder, sending each zombie successfully hit backwards. Finally, when they reached biting range, the yeti had taken enough. Using as much strength as he could exert, he tossed several zombies aside with ease, taking the time to murder each one with his bare hands. More grew near, and he compenstated by slowly skipping backwards to even the distance. Picking up another rock, he mustered all his strength, drawing back and waiting. As one of the monsters drew near enough to breath on him, he launched the rock with all his might into it's cranium, literally shattering it's skull. A fine mist of blood and skin rained through the air as the zombie flew backwards, knocking back two others in the process. His breathing growing heavy and his heart rate skyrocketing, he felt as though he couldn't take much more. The last bits of energy having been exerted from his body in his amazing throw, he hit the ground with a crash, knowing full well he was to die. The two zombies slowly made their way up from the ground, using their fallen comrade as leverage, and shambled towards the broken yeti. Just as the monsters leaned down to bite, two loud bangs resonated through the night, killing both of them. When Skips looked up from his would-be assailants, he noticed Benson gripping his 1911 firmly with a sly smile.

"Thought you could use a-"

"Hand? Skips asked, smirking. Benson stopped. "We've done this once before," Benson carefully helped his friend up. Meticulously scanning the area for any signs of undead life, they noticed that the fog had totally lifted and the storm had ceased, leaving a clear, but wet night ahead of them. In the distance, they noticed a blob of some sort, steadily coming towards them. Benson gritted his teeth and raised his gun, ready to fire.

"Who are you? Speak or I'll shoot you!" he screeched, ready to do what was necessary. The figure stopped, motionless. It wasn't very far away, but was well concealed in the darkness. "I'm warning you, I will kill you! " No response. "Last chance! Speak or you will die!"

"You know who else has to speak or they'll die?" Benson's face was immediately relieved as his face loosened and he holstered his pistol.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Muscle Man? I almost killed you!" Benson sighed, relieved he was alive.

"I like to play it close to the chest, bro. Where are the others?"

"Huh..." The thought hadn't crossed Benson's mind yet. "Mordecai? Rigby? Pops?" He called into the night, hands cupped around his mouth. Several seconds passed with no response, so he tried again, this time louder. "MORDECAI?! RIGBY?! P-" he was cut off by ?Mordecai appearing suddenly to the side of him, his head down in obvious sorrow. "Mordecai, what happened? Where's Rigby?" A single tear slid down the bird's face as he silently shook his head. The others looked devastated. "I'm-I'm sorry, Mordecai..."

"We all are," Skips added, saddened by the death in the group. Before they had much more of a chance to mourn, a thought crossed Benson's mind.

"Wait. Where's Pops?" Mordecai looked up, his face no longer in sorrow, now in fear.

"You mean you guys didn't see him?" Mordecai questioned, still showing the deep pain at the death of his friend.

"No. We were walking then got ambushed, but that was the last I saw of him..." Benson stammered, now fearing another was lost in the battle. "POPS!? WHERE ARE YOU?" He shouted into the night, but was hushed by Muscle Man.

"Quiet, man. You don't want to attract more of them, do you? We already got one going six feet under. I don't think we can stand any more," the words stung. "The best chance Pops has got is at the safe zone in Bloomington. If worse comes to worse and we don't find him there, well, we can mourn then. I don't mean to sound insensitive, in fact, I'm trying really hard not to, but now isn't the time to worry, bro. That comes later," Muscle Man's speech affected Benson in a way that made him quite angry, but he knew in the end, he was correct in his words. A look of devastation hit Benson's face as he fell to his knees in agony, enraged at himself. "What's the matter, bro?"

"The last thing I said to Pops..." the group listened intently. "Was that he wasn't..." A slight pause left the others in curiosity.

"Wasn't what?" Mordecai questioned.

"Wasn't fucking human..." the others eyes grew wide at the revelation, angered by how insensitive their ex-boss could be. "If he's dead now, I'll have to live with the fact my last words to one of my closest friends was, he wasn't. Fucking. Human..." A few tears trickled down the glass of his face as he silently began to sob.


	4. Beside The Dying Fire

"I remember a time not so long ago, the summer two years ago..." The group of four had all gathered around the makeshift coffin constructed in the night. Several orange gleams of light peeked through the few trees left standing as the group held their funeral. The wind silently stirred around them, subtly giving a depressive tone to the look of things as Benson spoke. "That summer-the last summer before it happened, was the summer I met Mordecai and Rigby," Everyone looked on past him, save for Skips, the only one strong enough to look into his eyes as he delivered his speech. "In all honesty, I never much cared for the two, always slacking and never doing what I said, but deep down, I grew to care for them. It hurts to see Rigby like this," the raccoon lay still in the casket, Mordecai having already disabled his brain so as to prevent reanimation and the sorrow of having to see him die twice. "I hoped a day like this would never come. A day where I had to bury an employee. _No. A friend._" the group stared on, tears now falling freely from Mordecai. Muscle Man and Benson appeared deeply troubled as well, only Skips left, staring solemnly as the speech continued. "I know its hard, but this is the world we live in now. It changes us, makes us different from who we once were. Rigby is no exception to that rule, the events of the apocalypse hardening him, but if what I heard last night is true, then he died a hero, protecting his closest friend," he ushered to Mordecai. "From harm. So let us remember him for who he was, a hero in his last moments. He sacrificed himself, which is the most selfless act I'd ever seen from him. I'm sorry," his speech was moving as he stepped down from his position of speaker. Mordecai moved forward, putting one wing across his friend's face in rememberance, then broke down, sobbing. Muscle Man extended a hand for his shoulder, but was stopped by Skips telling him it wasn't the right time. Benson then spoke.

"I know I said we'd bury him, Mordecai. But I'm sorry. We've given him a funeral, but we simply don't have time to bury him. We must burn his body. I'm sure Rigby would understand..." Mordecai's eyes slowly turned to the gumball machine, tears now halted. His eyes shut tightly as he embraced the only option and silently nodded in agreement.

"Come on, man!" Rigby shouted at his friend as he slipped on his winter jacket. "Let's get out of here while the going's good. Benson left, we've got the whole day off!" Mordecai appeared around the doorway, zipping his hoodie and putting on a pair of jeans.

"Where are we going?" he asked, strange since he was normally in charge.

"The coffee shop, like we always do, man," It was very subtle, but Rigby noticed a slight brightening of Mordecai's cheeks.

"Yeah, great idea!" Mordecai responded, trying very hard to mask his enthusiasm.

"Hehe, you don't even want coffee. You just want a front-row seat for MARGARET!" Rigby laughed, taunting his friend. Mordecai attempted to lash back at their playful argument, but realizing his friend was correct, he stopped and looked at him with a slight smirk.

"Whatever, dude. The coffee there is nice, too." The duo opened the door, revealing a vivid white landscape ahead of them, coated in several layers of freshly fallen snow. Several erratic breaths could be seen wisping through the air as Rigby sprinted to the cart, grabbing the passenger side. Mordecai tailed closly behind, inserting the key and revving the engine. After a few sputters, smoke rolled out the back and the two did a donut as they left.

"Hey guys, what can I get you?" the cheerful robin waitress asked as they sat down.

"Oh, hey Margaret. I'll take the usual," Rigby casually responded.

"What about you, Mordecai?" After a few awkard seconds, Rigby jammed an elbow into's his friend's ribs, jerking him back into reality.

"Huh? Oh, the usual," Mordecai's attempts to stay cool were bombing.

"Sure, I'll be right back," she replied, blushing as she walked from having Mordecai stare. Rigby noticed, then elbowed his friend again.

"Did you see that, man? She was totally blushing." Rigby replied excitedly.

"What? No way..."

"No man, it's true! I think it's time you make your move!" Rigby's face was happy as he joked with his friend.

"Well, I have been meaning to try, but I always puss out at the last sec-OH! Hey Margaret!" She approached with a pitcher of freshly brewed coffee, pouring a fair amount into each of their cups and beginning to walk off, when Rigby jammed his elbow into Mordecai once again.

"Oh, hey, Margaret, one more thing," She turned, a layer of happiness hidden under her blank expression. "I was wondering if you were-uh, I mean, just asking if-um..." he nervously sipped his coffee. "Wondering if you could-uh..." He sipped again.

"If I could, _what?"_ She cocked her head playfully as she stared at him, a slight blush emerging.

"If you could..." He looked down at the table, then sighed, extending his cup to her. "Give me a refill." The smile immediately fell from her face as she blankly replied.

"Sure, Mordecai," she said, filling the mug to the brim. As she walked away, her eyes fell to the floor in disappointment, though she carefully made sure he couldn't see.

"Dammit," Mordecai muttered.

"Dude, what the hell was that? You had your chance and you blew it, she was interested!" Rigby stood up on his stool, his arms flying up in disbelief.A quick jab to his right arm left him on the floor as Mordecai looked on at him in anger.

"Shut up!" he screeched.

"Whatever, you're just mad you blew it!" Rigby's eyes narrowed and a wide grin crossed his face as he taunted his friend. However, he was quickly quieted by the threat of another hit. Mordecai sighed deeply, drinking more of his coffee, then finished, waving a last goodbye to Margaret as he exited. However, before he had a chance to leave, he heard Rigby shout.

"Hey Margaret! I think Mordecai has something to say to you!" Mordecai's teeth gritted, enraged at his friend's gesture, but turned with a smile on his face to see the girl of his dreams in front of him, one arm crossed holding her elbow shyly.

"Did you want to ask me something?" She questioned, looking up from the floor. He gulped hard, knowing he had to face up or risk another failure.

"Yeah, uh. Are you-I mean, can I-uh, Saturday Night, late night showing of Crime City?" he stuttered, embarassed of how pathetic he was. Her face perked up.

"Is that a..._date?"_ she asked, her eyes looking up to him playfully. He gulped hard.

"Yes. _Wait, _no. It would be like a group thing, you know..." Her eyes narrowed and her face turned a shade of grey.

"Oh," She responded dully. "I don't think I can make it, then. I was supposed to help Eileen with something or another," she turned away, hurt.

"Oh, sorry," Mordecai stood still, mortified of his mistake. She stepped into the doorway across the hall, disappearing into the dark.

_"What. The. Fuck?"_ Rigby looked at him in anger. Mordecai turned away, a tear sliding down his cheek as he fled the restaraunt.

Mordecai suddenly snapped back into reality, orange blaze glowing in front of him. The morning was still as he stood, beside the dying fire. _Beside the dying fire._ The statement didn't mean much to him as he thought on. It had seemed so vivid, _so real, _his memory. Honestly, Rigby could be somewhat of a jerk, but he had only been trying to help his bro out, making Mordecai realize how different life without his best friend would be. The flashback also seemed to symbolize something else; His depression.

That snowy morning at the coffee shop had been the last time he'd seen Margaret, the dead having risen only a few weeks later for still unknown reasons. He knew that he'd never be able to show her his feelings, not now, not ever. After a few solemn moments staring at the burning casket, it dawned on him that everything would change. _Everything._

A few more moments passed, then Benson set a comforting hand on the bird's shoulder.

"I know it's hard, Mordecai, but we have to leave," his words were soft. Mordecai nodded, turning to the fire. An aura of solemn silence engulfed the group as Mordecai stood firm, staring into the fire.

"I'll see you again someday, buddy. _Beside the dying fire,"_


	5. Subconscious Demons

A soft light cast over the street as the group pressed on, now far away from the place they once called home. The town of Bloomington was just a few miles over as they travelled further, weary and tired, but ready for the imminent attack ahead of them. A foul stench of dead bodies surrounded them all as they walked in tight formation, a constant sense of gloom infecting their minds. Dark rings and circles encased each their eyes, sleep deprivation gnawing at them, dulling their senses. Muscle Man was the first to collapse, near the outskirts of the town on a state highway. Several destroyed cars lined the long, winding road, and a steep drop adorned either side, leading to a pit of running water.

"Muscle Man," Benson was groggy. "I know you're tired but-you c-can't sleep h-" Benson hit the ground, no longer resisting the urge before him. Mordecai looked at Skips, seemingly asking for approval, and Skips nodded. Mordecai soon found himself on the ground, falling fast asleep almost instantly. Only Skips stood, his immortality leading him to keep watch. As the sun slowly crested its peak in the sky, it began; A slight humming in his left ear was annoying, yes, but not hostile. _Not yet, anyway._

Several hours went by, and Skips judged it to be around 5:30 in the evening. He knew the group would be in trouble as soon as night fell. However, the true horror had not yet even begun. Several low voices echoed through Skips' head, muttering indescribable sentences and an occasional demonic shriek. They seemed to be inhuman, either in a godly, or more likely, ungodly way.

"No, no, no no no..." Skips gripped his head in agony, enraged at these voices for returning. "Stop bothering me," the mutters and groans grew louder and more violent in his subconcious. Veins in his neck popped and the blood vessels in his eyes exploded as he schreeched loudly. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!" he shrieked, stumbling backwards from his group and into the ravine on the side of the highway. Tumbling down with a splash, he quickly picked himself up and cupped his hands to his ears, trying to get rid of them. They were relentless, not letting up for even the slightest second, breathing heavily, muttering, and shrieking into his eardrums. "GAHH!" the cries carried for miles on the open terrain, unbeknownst to him, accidentally attracting ghouls to disperse on his location. The demons were malicious and evil, and Skips knew it was time to end this. Picking up a large rock from the artificial stream, similar to the one he killed zombies with before, he raised it high over his head to strike down, but in an instant, he was tackled by Mordecai, the rock falling harmlessly to the ground.

"What the H, man?" Mordecai questioned, now fully rested. Sliding down the steep grade, Muscle Man and Benson were confused as to what had happened.

"What's wrong? I heard Skips screaming?" Benson was confused.

"He was down here freaking out for no reason, then tried to hit himself in the head with a rock!" Mordecai was angered by the Skip's attempt at hurting himself, not knowing the full story. Skips looked on past him, not ready to explain the demonic voices in his head, which had now conveniently vanished.

"Skips, are you all right bro?" Muscle Man questioned, worried about the well-being of his all-knowing friend.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Everything is ok," he lied through his teeth. As the three pressed questions into their friend further, out of nowhere, a zombie appeared, ready to strike Mordecai. However, it was bested by the much faster bird and hit the ground in a clean miss. This didn't detour it for long, as his putrid, rotting arms began to leverage himself up from the stream. Using the lantern he'd had earlier, Benson drew back, spattering it deep into the zombie's skull and spilling gore everywhere, turning the water a dark shade of red.

"Shit, that was close," Mordecai panted heavily. Before they all had time to catch their breath, another appeared behind Skips from the woodsline, but this time, they were prepared in advance. As the ghoul approached, Skips easily dispatched it with a well placed kick, sending it hurdling down the steep hill.

"That was sick, bro!" Muscle Man shouted, excited at the sheer badassery his friend had just performed. Skips looked at his muscles with a grin.

"It was nothing, really," he looked up, seeing a terrified expression imprinted on both Benson and Mordecai's faces. Following their gaze towards the forest, he noticed something horrible; A full blown horde was slowly shambling forward, ready for the kill. Benson was the first to speak.

"RUN!" he shouted, all of them darting up the hill. As they made it to the top, they realized that their problem had just grown much more severe, noticing several stray zombies now loose on the road. Benson scanned frantically, then, seeing the direction in which they would head, screamed again. "This way," he shouted over the moands of the undead, leading them through several of the stragglers roaming the street. More ghouls piled through the forest, slowly ascending the hill towards their prey, and the group from the park kept running. No relief in sight, they continued to sprint, the most pain being exerted by Skips and Muscle Man carrying the most weight, Skips with the supplies and Mitch with his own obesity. Finally, winding another long curve, Mordecai noticed a damaged, but functioning sedan. As they others in the group ran past it quickly, Mordecai found himeself in the driver's seat, frantically searching for keys. As he lifted the driver's side vanity mirror down, they plopped into his lap. A few knocks and sputters later, the vehicle was moving, just in time, as the fastest zombies were already beating at his back glass. The group was quite far ahead of him, but he caught up in mere seconds, ushering for them to get in as he slowed down. Benson grabbed shotgun while the other two took the back, Mordecai quickly shooting off far from the area. As Muscle Man shut his door, he noticed that on the other side of him lay a decomposing corpse.

"Oh no, bro! Get that thing away from me!" his side flew into Skips, fearful of the disgusting sight.

"It's dead, man. As soon as we're far enough away, we'll dump the body and keep going. Within a few seconds of Mordecai's statement, the corpse peeked one eye open, carefully scanning its surroundings. Its nose was partially decomposed and its face held several now rotting scars down the sides, a hideous sight. Turning its head slowly towards Muscle Man, it let out a low growl.

"Huh?" Muscle Man turned to face the monster.

"FUCK!" the ghoul reached forwards towards his arm, ready for the kill. Muscle Man then found his hand in the creature's mouth as it began to clamp down. Everyone in the car screeched as this took place, Mordecai frantically swerving to miss stragglers on the road. A slight pain could be felt on his hand as he applied all of his strength to escape the vise. In seconds, he heard a faint cracking sound, similar to that of bones crunching, and finally, the putrid jaw flew off with a flash, Muscle Man having literally ripped it off in terror. Benson reached back behind his seat, opening the right side door, and Muscle Man exerted the rest of his strength kicking the zombie out the door. Its nails gripped tightly to the sides of the interior as it tried to hold on, jaw bleeding everywhere, but a swift kick to the head from Muscle Man's boot was enough to make it fly out and become another stain on the road. The door closed violently as Mordecai turned right, and the group panted heavily. After several intense seconds of recovery, Benson finally spoke.

"Were you bitten, Muscle Man?"

"Nah man, I'm good," he observed his hand. "Just a little nick, that's a-OH SHIT!" the others turned to him in terror. The car screeched to a halt, leaving black skid marks on the pavement as he observed his wound. "Oh, god...I don't want to die!" Muscle Man searched frantically, Skips finally calming him.

"Don't worry; You don't have to." Muscle Man looked up, scared for his life, but feeling a slight relief at Skips' words. "Mordecai, hand me the hatchet," a frilled feather fell into the bag Skips had tossed inside the sedan, searching for the tool.

"A _hatchet?"_ Muscle Man questioned. "What are you gonna do, Skips?" he looked on at the yeti in confusion.

"I'm gonna prevent the infection from spreading," he said solemnly, gripping the tool Mordecai had handed him. Benson and Mordecai recoiled, waiting for the imminent result.

"How are you gonna do that?" Muscle Man watched him in terror as he gripped his arm and raised the blade.

"Like this," the tool fell at a violent speed.

"OH NO BR-" the sound was inaudible as the blade sliced cleanly through his arm.


	6. Rekindling The Blaze

Everything slowly faded as the group gaped around him, the stump uncontrollably flying around, spilling torrential amounts of blood all over the rest of them. Well, at least that's how it seemed to Muscle Man, as in reality, he lay still and silent as Skips hurried to stop the bleeding on his arm. The lights dimmed gradually as his eyes closed, and the last thing he could remember was Skips quietly speaking over him as he blacked out.

His eyes shot open, jolted by what sounded like the screech of tires. Looking up, he expected to see his friends stopping in Bloomington, excited to see whether it could provide shelter. However, what he saw was nothing like this; A white landscape painted everything around him, and as he slowly stood up, the car interior he had woken up to fading to nothing, leaving only the white for as far as the eye could see. Able to move, he slowly walked out in the direction he believed was forward, finding no change at all in the background, the illusion of 'walking in place' being given. After several hundred feet, or so it seemed, he was compelled to stop. Seemingly from nowhere, a thundering Aussie accent boomed through the desolate dimension.

"Hehe, well if it isn't ol' Mitch," it sneered. The faint sound of a motorcycle could be heard in the distance. Muscle Man cowered.

"Who is it?!" he cried, the voice sounding strangely familiar. The faint sound of the bike grew louder as if approaching him.

"It doesn't matter who I 'yam, what matter is who you are, _Muscle Man_," the thundering voice grew more distinct, but he still couldn't place the name. Finally, something appeared in the distance; A thundering motorcycle, driven straight from hell, zoomed forward, skidding to a stop in front of him. A lean figure wearing a torn jacket and a hood stepped off carefully, pulling a large blade from his back. His boots echoed as they hit the floor and he raised the blade, a scythe, to gain a better grip. The hood fell silently behind his head, revealing the familiar voice to Muscle Man; Death.

"No, bro, I ain't dead yet!" Muscle Man backed away holding his arms up to distance himself from the reaper. Death cackled, slowly approaching.

"Well sure 'ya are, you lost your pulse eight minutes ago. You're friends are gonna be putting you six feet under, 'eh?" the thunder of his boots smacking the ground steadily increased in volume as he approached.

"NO! I-I'm alive, I just lost an arm, that's all, Skips said I'd be fine!" Death sneered at the excuse.

"Ha! I assure you, Mitch, you're very much dead," he stopped, pulling an orb with a strange aura circling it from his pocket. Tossing it into the air, the orb floated mystically, a strange mist engulfing it, revealing faint imagery associated with his fate. "Look here, 'eh?" the images cleared, revealing the entire group hovering over Muscle Man's body in the car, Mordecai having found a place to stop. They spoke to each other, but no words came out.

"Uh-what are they saying?" Muscle Man nervously questioned.

"They're debating what to do with your corpse, fool. Did I forget to mention you're _DEAD?"_ he cackled maniacally again, the orb retreating back to its owner. Stepping forward, Death continued his speech. "You're gonna have to come with me, Muscle Man. We can do this with or without your participation, I could go for either, hehe," he leered at the sharpened blade maliciously.

"Oh no, bro!" Muscle Man took off sprinting, trying desperately not to meet his maker. Death let out a slight smile, then, in a wisp of smoke, vanished into thin air, appearing directly in front of Muscle Man. Not going to be bested, Muscle Man increased speed, and Death, having not expected this counter-attack, vanished again, this time behind him.

"You can run as far as you want, but it won't get you anywhere! This is a world of my creation, and I'll turn it into you're own private hell!" suddenly, Muscle Man found himself slowing, not from fatigue, mind you, but he just seemed to stop moving, no matter how hard he attempted to escape. Death made his way towards Muscle Man casually as he frantically attempted to get away, legs flailing. Then, with just the snap of the finger from the reaper, the world around him began to collapse. The walls once an endless shade of white quickly faded to blood-stained stone and chains, resembling a dungeon of some sort. The ground below him began to move upwards and back, imploding on itself into a boiling lake of lava Death himself had crafted. Clinging for dear life, Muscle Man found himself slowing being descended into the lake, the rock he was holding being slowly sucked in. Death's twisted laugh was booming as the rocks began to tumble down alongside him as the very fabric of the place was torn down. A screech, nearly inaudible over the uproar of hell, was heard from Muscle Man as his fingers lost all grip and he tumbled down into the abyssal pool of molten liquid. Several indescribable beasts with leathery wings flew below him as he fell, letting out strange calls and cries, returning to the nests they had carefully built over precarious slopes ending in lava. In his last seconds, all was still, the fall strangely soothing him. Overhearing a faint shout in the distance from the reaper, Muscle Man repeated it to himself as he finally drifted into the lake.

_"Beside the dying fire-"_

"What the h-" Mordecai turned, seeing the portly green man's eyes stir to life.

"Shit, he reanimated. Hand me the gun-QUICK! He's getting up!" just as the bird had the gun hovering above his head, Muscle Man spoke.

"You ladies miss me?" Mordecai's mouth gaped as the pistol fell to the ground.

"MUSCLE MAN!" he shouted, extending a hand to his friend, helping him up. "We swore you were dead, man!" exclaimed Mordecai as he lifted him.

"I was, bro. I was," he spoke solemnly, a slight breeze rolling through his hair. "I saw Death, and he almost had me. I saw some things I wished I hadn't, too," a faint crackle could be heard behind him as he stared off into the night.

"You were this close, man. _This close!"_ two fingers brought themselves near as Mordecai spoke.

"It was all white, a world with no color. He appeared, wanting my soul, I'm assuming. He turned the whole place into HELL!" his gestures trying to describe the purgatory were huge. "Then the world began to implode, and as I fell into the lava beneath me, I heard him call something out to me. I don't know of it's importance, really. Sounded like he was just fucking around," Muscle Man lightly joked. Benson looked at him intently, then questioned him.

"So, what did he say?"

"He said something like-" the faint crackle behind him was now a roar, and heat nearly singed his back as he fell forward away from the blaze.

"Hehe, fire almost got you," Skips joked. Muscle Man's mouth hit the ground as he peered into the blaze, faintly seeing what appeared to be a masked figure sneering at him. Mordecai turned to him.

"We thought you were dead man," he looked at the fire, happy to not have to toss another friend in. "Like I said, _this close."_ Muscle Man's eyes grew as a single tear slid by, realizing what it meant. The face in the fire mouthed the words along with Muscle Man as the others watched along intently.

_"Beside the dying fire,"_


	7. The City Of Riches?

**Hey, guys, Blake here. I want to apologize for the short chapter, but I have something to say, so I was excited to update. There will be a lot of new characters soon, so please, submit an idea or two in the form of reviews. I need a name, age, type (animal, human, machine, etc) and a short description on their personality. And also, I hope to get more in-depth reviews, and I'd like to see more criticism and hearing about what you guys like and don't. That will be all...**

**-Blake**

Asphalt was burned as the worn sedan quickly made it's way up the steep grade. A bullet-torn and rusted sign reading "Bloomington, next exit," stood precariously near the road, ready to fall at any moment. The survivors were weary, even though the journey had went by much faster than anticipated. Benson was the first to speak.

"Be sure to take the next right, Mordecai," he pointed out, a few trickles of sweat rolling down his dome from the unreasonably hot day. "And could you click the air up a few notches?" he added, redundantly doing it himself. Destroyed vehicles lined the long road ahead of them, and Mordecai slowed down to weave in between a few larger ones. Skips looked on in horror as they passed.

"Oh god..." A large schoolbus coated in a layer of dried blood stood prominently to the right of them, slaughtered children and limbs scattered across the inside. Muscle Man stifled the vomit from coming up, allowing it to burn its way down his throat again. Mordecai's mouth gaped as he slowly passed the large vehicle, not paying much attention to the road. A partially eaten young boy, no older than six, was hung out of the window, his arms torn apart in what appeared to be a tug-of war between two zombies. Benson's eyes watered.

"I've seen enough, gun it!" Benson tapped Mordecai's shoulders, attempting not to cry. The vehicle sped off, leaving the bus in unpreturbed peace, if you could call it that. "There, there's the exit," Benson pointed as the road turned off. Turning carefully into the exit, Mordecai sighed as he drove uphill. Muscle Man turned.

"You okay, bro?" it was genuine, a rarity from Muscle Man.

"I'm just thinking," Mordecai paused, staring off into the vacant distance, faintly seeing the tips of skyscrapers peaking over as they approached. "What if this place _isn't _safe? What if it's overrun with zombies? What if everyone there is _dead?"_ his tone was somber. Before Muscle Man could reply, Skips did so.

"That's a lot of 'what ifs,' Mordecai. You should at least _try _and be optimistic," he casually joked, though the bird was dead serious.

"I'm not joking, Skips. What the fuck are we gonna do if this place is crawling with them? Where are we gonna go?" everyone in the car seemed affected by his words. "This could be all for nothing, dude,"

"Whatever the case, it's a risk worth taking, I assure you," Skips' tone was now harder, grittier, akin to his normal voice. He then looked off towards the city ahead of them, subtly telling Mordecai the conversation was now over. Mordecai scoffed.

"Pshh...whatever. I just don't want this whole thing to be for nothing. I mean, we can't handle it if this thing isn't worth it! We're running low on supplies, food, water..." his gestures grew in size steadily. "I mean, what if we-" Suddenly, his front left tire had a massive blowout, sending the car into a skidding frenzy.

"Shit! What's happening?!" Muscle Man shrieked, gripping the safety bar with the hand he still had. Mordecai struggled to get it back into place, reddish sparks flying from the rim.

"We just had a **massive **blowout, Muscle Man," his arms extended awkwardly past his comfort zone as he desperately attempted to gain control. Without warning, a loud bang resonated from far in front of them, and a split second later, the right front blew out, sending the sedan into the other direction before causing a massive flip. The entire group screeched, terrified of what would become of them. In the few seconds the car was airborne, time seemed to stop. Totally frozen, everything was still and calm, very peaceful. Glass shards whizzed through the air at unimaginable speeds as the car hit the ground in what might've been the most brutal reality check in history. Blood stained the dash as Mordecai's head hit the wheel, unmoving. Benson lay unconscious next to him, hairline cracks adorning his once gleaming dome. Muscle Man's arm wound had totally re-opened, causing massive blood loss, and only Skips remained awake, though very injured. The car lay upside down as the yeti opened the door, rolling into the harsh light of day, head quite fuzzy from the horrific accident. For a moment, he felt his optics had all but quit, not seeing anything, but he quickly regained his head when the sound of distant footsteps caught his ear. Unable to stand, he turned slightly to face the direction the noise came from, and the last thing he saw before joining his friends in unconsciousness was a lone man carrying a gleaming, metallic rifle approaching.


	8. Evaluated

**Blake here, I really appreciate the reviews as well as the character submissions, and I hope to see even more in the near future, because a lot of new characters will soon be introduced.**

"...whu-whuzzat?" Benson's voice was raspy and cracked, seemingly struggling to form coherent words. Dim lights lit a long hallway in front of him, the door to the metallic room he was in gaping open. Struggling to stand, he suddenly realized he was chained to the table. For a brief moment, he fought with it, trying desperately to escape the grip the steel had on his arm.

"You're not going to break free, you know. You should conserve your energy," a deep voice called out from a darkened corner of the room. Benson stopped, turning towards the voice and seeing the silhouette of a tall man grasping a cigarrette. An audible exhale could be heard as smoke pressed forward from the corner, wisping away into nothing in the air. Benson feared who this mystery man was and why he had them here. _What were his intentions? Did he plan to kill them? _Benson gulped, sweat trickling down his dome onto his sleek, metallic body. The man finally stepped forward into the dim light, revealing himself to be quite old and rugged, a rough, grey beard covering most of his face. His skin was dark, and he wore a suit of some sort. As he approached slowly, Benson's eyes narrowed, fear coursing through him. As the man finally stopped, a silence settled in fittingly for a few moments before the man finally extended a hand in greeting. Benson was surprised.

"The name's Ari. And I'm _pretty sure _you're Benson, right?" his smile was welcoming, but his eyes cold. Benson's throat was dry as he spoke.

"Um-yeah?" he couldn't manage much else out, his tongue sticking to his teeth.

"I think a few in our group knew you previously some how..." Benson's heart stopped. _There were others? How many, and who was it that could've possibly known him? _"We've got a good thing going here, Benson. Lots of food, water, shelter for years," Benson's eyes perked up, not much though, still showing the inner pain from the horrific crash he had been in. _"But..." _the words seemed oddly hostile to Benson as Ari spoke. "We need to know a bit more about you before letting you...join us,"

"Like what?" the gumball machine managed out, throat still very dry.

"We need to evaluate you, find out if you're..._normal,"_ Ari's tone grew dark. Benson let loose a slight smile before scoffing.

"Normal? _Normal? _No one anymore is fucking normal, Ari. You know that!" he retorted, unintentionally coming off as hostile. Ari stared at him, shocked he would say such a thing while being evaluated. He then cracked a smile.

"You speak the truth, boy," he chuckled. "You're alright," his hand extended to the automation, gripping it firmly. Benson smiled, for the first time in what seemed like centuries. The handshake was cut short as Ari pulled away, scribbling a few notes onto a clipboard he seemed to have just gotten, or maybe Benson just hadn't noticed it. "Alright, well, I have to go evaluate the others as well, see if any of them are dangerous, but if they're anything like you, I'm sure they'll be alright," he snickered, stepping into the hallway.

"Oh, Ari, one more thing..." Ari turned, stopping the door midway from shutting. "Who was it that knew me here?" Ari laughed, opening the door fully again.

"Don't worry, once he knows you're awake, you won't be able to keep him away, I'll have the nurse send him back," _The nurse? This Bloomington place had a nurse? _That was a luxury he had long forgotten, lost to the ranks of the undead, then remembered something important he had forgotten; His health.

A quick self-evaluation ensured that he still had all of his limbs, but could feel several hairline cracks on his dome. Most of the paint on the front of his body had been scratched off in the flip, leaving his front bare. It seemed that the metallic flap used for reaching inside him to grab gumballs, as he was only a machine, after all, was totally non-existent, possibly having been knocked off in the frenzy. Looking up to ask a few more questions to Ari before he left, he realized he was a few moments too late, the door already bolted and stuck in place, virtually immovable unless someone unlocked it.

Going to stand, he realized that his arm was still chained to the table. "Shit," he muttered. He knew he should've asked Ari to unchain him, but it would've been futile since trust would have to be earned over time here, not immediately. Ari had taken a liking to him immediately, but there is no way he would've left him on his own to roam free, only knowing him for a few brief moments. Another question popped into his mind as he lay silent. _Who were the others? Who was it out there who spotted us, and had they drug us back here alone? _His mind continually drew blanks as the questions flooded in, so many to be answered as soon as Ari returned. Before he got too deep into thought, he heard a few clicks and looked up to see the door being unbolted. Expecting Ari, he waited silently, ready to bombard him with questions the instant the door was re-closed. However, it was not Ari this time.

A tall woman in a white uniform opened the door, closing it carefully behind her as she carried a tray of food to Benson. She was very young, probably early twenties, or maybe even still a teenager, and her mousy hair was a light shade of brown, faded streaks of red faintly showing over. Smooth white skin adorned her body as she approached him slowly, complexion very pale, the only thing contrasting being her lusterous green eyes. Setting down the tray next to him, she introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Amber," she outstretched a dainty hand which Benson responded to with a light touch.

"Hehe, Benson," he said aloud, nervously chuckling. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, far from it actually, but it had been years since he had even seen a female, or thought about love at all, for that matter. She smiled comfortingly, however, also subtly told him she wasn't interested and sat down beside him in a leather chair.

"So, uh...what's wrong with me, _Amber?"_ it was peculiar to even hear a female name roll off of his tongue.

"Well, as you can probably already tell by the throbbing headache, you suffered some minor cracks on your cranium, but it's nothing I can't fix. You're body was severely damaged in the accident, and you're, -erm..." she slightly blushed, not at Benson, but at the nature of the injury. "Flap...went missing. I'm afraid we can't do much about that," she turned away, embarrassed a bit.

"Oh," Benson's tone was low, knowing he would feel naked for the rest of his life. The two sat for a moment in awkward silence, before finally, the door at the end of the hall opened, prompting the nurse to adopt a formal tone.

"Oh, well, Mr. Benson," she was a different person. "It seems Ari has escorted your visitor in, but I'm afraid it will have to be brief," she monotonously replied, not looking directly at him, resembling a machine. "Will that be all?" Benson stopped in confusion of the new personality.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so-" he was cut off.

"Alright then," she stepped out, carrying a medical looking chart along with her. Benson was dumbfounded by the peculiar nurse. Before he had time to ponder what had happened to him, a familiar face appeared in the doorway, looking on in shock at him, two hands clasped to his head and a wide smile contrasted his coarse beard. Benson's eyes lit up as the name rolled out.

_"Pops..."_


	9. Pops' Dream?

"Pops!" the cry of the gumball machine echoed throughout the facility as he outstretched his arms, as far as he could without being restrained, anyway. The lollipop man embraced his friend as he came close, a wide grin encompassing his face. "How did you get out alive?" he stammered.

"Ah, yes, my survival..." Pops pulled a chair towards the bed Benson sat in, signifying that his story would be fairly long.

Several gunshots scattered in the immediate area around him as he slowly found himself straying from the group. The fog was too thick to see through, let alone locate anyone, so he continued to flee from the monsters in the night. Rain was pelting his spherical head, getting caught along with dirt, blood, and sweat in his ragged beard as he sprinted. Noticing the gunfire slowly fading in volume, he slowed his pace, knowing he was going the wrong direction. However, before he was convinced to return, motivation appeared in the form of a reanimated corpse reaching for him through the window of fog. Letting out a shrill cry, Pops ran even further, unintentionally distancing himself even more from his friends.

Fully aware of the fact he only retained two slugs in his shotgun, he stopped, ready to use it as a club to fight off the ghoul. Once it approached, however, Pops realized something had gone terribly awry; At least a dozen were now trailing him, only a few feet away before he resumed his running, now terrified for his life. After what seemed like hours, his legs were burning, demanding rest. Slowly, he came to a stop, limbs still flailing in a futile attempt to save themselves from the demons that were so carefully stalking them. Before he hit the ground, he distinctly noticed that he was no longer in the park, now somewhere unrecognizable on the street.

Sweat pooled around his head as he lay silently on the pavement, waiting for the inevitable fate that awaited him. After several minutes passed, he realized that he was still alive, and picked himself up, peering into the darkness. The fog had cleared a bit, but not much, allowing for a narrow field of vision in front of him. No zombies were in sight, but he still felt he was not alone, being observed by someone, _or something. _Not taking the chance, he decided it best to continue on the road, though he longed to return to his friends. Moving further up the city street, he found a familiar sight directly ahead of him and decided to take refuge; The coffee shop.

Though he had never really had much of an interest in the place, he was constantly hearing of the strange and misadventurous tales that Mordecai and Rigby constantly had there. He remembered someone else too, the girl Mordecai liked, Margaret, was it? He also remembered how Mordecai constantly tried to spend time with her, making any feasible excuse he could to sheepishly escape the park to see her. Shaking his head, Pops realized how quickly he was travelling nowhere and disregarded the memories.

Making his way through the shattered door and carefully avoiding the broken glass on the floor, he soon found himself cowering in the store room, gripping the shotgun tightly to his chest as distant moans could be heard, echoing from the outside. He knew perfectly well that he was completely unprotected, vulnerable to any ghoul lucky enough to wander into the room. However, he still felt a comforting feeling, that of safety engulfing him, an aura of total invulnerability blanketing him, shielding him from the demons. After several minutes of lying in the corner peacefully, the distant shrieks and roars slowly subsided to nothing and prompted Pops to unwittingly let his guard down. A few more moments passed, but by then he was already gone, a trance of deep sleep already having taken him to a land of dreams.

The irregularly-shaped old man frolicked in the fields of beautiful marigolds, his beard shaved and the blood stains on his clothes nonexistent. Not a care in the world was given as he dove into the lush field of yellow, hitting the ground softly and sliding to a resting place on the vividly colored ground. Soon, he found himself staring off into the sky, and after a moment or so of identifying the clouds as everyday things, he let his eyes drift off in relaxation. However, a nearly inaudible voice called through his subconscious.

_"PoPss..." _a hiss emanated from somewhere in his head. _"ThIsss iSssN't a SafE plAcE..." _the voice was strangely soothing. _"WaKe uP, coMe to tHE oUtsiDE..." _it beckoned, very convincingly, as Pops opened his eyes, noticing that his dream world had all but been destroyed. He stifled a shrill cry as he noticed that all of the glistening marigolds had been coated in a layer of fresh blood, and the sky, once a beautiful shade of aqua, now lit the landscape with a shade of glowing scarlet. Then, everything went to hell;

All of the ground crumbled beneath him, leading into a strange vortex of some sort. His entire world was being torn apart, ripped at the seams. The landscape slowly imploded, revealing a lake of lava beneath him. Even though Pops was positive that nothing like this had ever happened in a dream, or even a nightmare, it still seemed vaguely familiar to him as the rock he held dearly to cascaded down the abyss into the lava. Attempting to scream, he quickly realized no words were escaping his jaws, and he still felt that somewhere, somehow, this had happened before. A distinct voice, the one he had heard earlier, called out to him, repeating a meaningless phrase; "Beside the dying fire." Finally, as his body finally found its way into the lake of molten rock, he jolted back to reality.

It was dark when he awoke, but it was not the gleaming moon nor the calls of the undead that disturbed his slumber; It was the distinct crackle of gunfire in the night, firing at what seemed to be dozens, if not, _HUNDREDS _of the undead, the horde slowly closing in on the unnamed survivors. Then, he heard the voices.

"ARI! We're fucking outnumbered, what are we gonna do!?" a distinct male voice called out, replied to promptly by another.

"Keep firing! We can't afford to lose the medicine!" another voice shrieked, followed by a volley of gunfire presumably aimed at the undead.

"I'm out-" the first voice screeched, audibly dropping a clip from his rifle. Pops finally gained the courage to peer around the corner of the store room, noticing several dark silhouettes fleeing from countless ghouls. In an act of sheer heroism, Pops jumped out from cover, catching several of them by surprise with the two rounds he had left. A click emanated from Pops' weapon as he dropped it, running out into the street past them.

"What the fuck was that? Nobody had a shotgun here, _right?" _a third voice could be heard.

"Over there!" Ari, as they called him, cried out, an outstretched arm pointing to the fleeing lollipop man.

"They're distracted, get 'em now!" the voice was lost to the gunfire preceding the command. Several limp bodies of zombies littered the ground, only a few left shambling for Pops. Darting through a narrow alleyway, Pops soon found himeslf cornered, two ghouls blocking his exit. As they slowly approached, Pops held his back firm to the wall, scanning the area for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon; Nothing. As the undead came withing a few feet, Pops knew he was dead.

The audible sound of a knife cutting through flesh reverberated through the narrow alley as Pops opened his eyes, catching sight of his saviors. Before a proper introduction, or even an improper one, could be given, another few grunts in the night made it clear that now was the time to leave.

"So you found them by accident, eh?" Benson let out a chuckle, mainly excited to see his friend was still alive.

"Indeed, my good man, I did," his voice was chipper.

"Wow," Benson was taken back. "That's something I _never _thought I'd hear again!" Benson's smile grew, noting that Pops had retained something from his life before.

"Yes, I had also forgotten what it was like," Pops tone grew more somber as his eyes slowly moved toward the wall vacantly as if he were deep in thought. Before the two could continue talking, the door at the end of the hall slammed open, revealing the nurse, a serious expression plastered on her face.

"What is it, Amber?" Benson was concerned.

"It's your green friend, er...Mitch," her tone was serious.

"What happened?" Pops' hands were glued to the side of his face.

"He's..._dead,"_


	10. Hushed Voices

**Sorry this is a really short chapter guys, but I've been lacking inspiration recently, so it might be a few days before my next update. -Blake**

All was still as the group gathered around their fallen comrade, having been released from their beds for a few moments to see him. Several people Benson could not recognize hovered over Muscle Man's body as well, probably the other survivors Pops had heard in the city. He noticed that Skips was absent, but before he could mention anything, Ari spoke.

"If there's anything you'd like to say, Benson, I'd do it now..." he spoke softly. Benson thought silently for a moment, then spoke up, the crowd hushing.

"Muscle Man was a good employee, always getting his work done, very sarcastic and always making jokes, too," he chuckled slightly. "Honestly, I didn't know him all that well, as a friend anyway, but I do know he meant a lot to all of us," his eyes fell to the floor. "We thought he would live, he cheated death earlier this week," his mind raced suddenly, wondering how long it had been since the accident had occured. "At least I think it was a week, anyway. He lost an arm and blacked out for a while, and once we were ready to toss him into the fire, he woke up, telling us a story of how he escaped Death himself," the crowd listened intently. Benson looked down at the pale corpse before him, then slid two fingers towards his face, shutting his eyes. "I...I'm sorry," he carefully patted his head, standing in a moment of silence for several seconds before being ushered away by the nurse.

"I'm sorry, Benson," Amber pushed him towards the hallway. "They're going to get him ready for his burial, but you have to wait in your room. Ari's orders," she stated, implying she was not responsible for forcing him to leave.

"Oh, alright," his feet stopped scraping the floor as he willingly returned to his room. Walking down the hallway, his footsteps echoed as hundreds more unanswered questions crossed his mind. Suddenly, one rolled off of his tongue. "Amber, who were the others in there? Can I get an introdu-" he turned, realizing she was already gone. Without another look, he returned to his room to wait.

Staring vacantly out his window, Skips sat silently, waiting to be informed what to do by the nurse. Waiting patiently and intently peering out the window, he heard something, nearly inaudible, beckon to him. It was still at first, but grew rapidly in volume, revealing itself to be the demonic voices that forever tormented him.

"AHH! Get the...fuck...out of my..." he stood, disoriented, gripping tightly to his cranium, knocking over many expensive looking, sleek machines. His furry arm caught in the handcuffs that held him to the bed he was sitting on, but he pulled the heavy bed along with him easily, tossing it around like a rag doll as he threw his fists in rage. "GAH!" the screech carried throughout the facility, alerting everyone in the vincinity. Even Benson wondered what the strange cry was. Before he could cause much more destruction, the nurse burst in, another unrecognizable man behind her, gripping a syringe.

"Skips!" she called out, but he didn't listen. The entire world around him was red as the voices continued the evil rant of undecipherable, demonic shrieks. His blood pumped with fury as he continued to thrash everything around him. As his movements became more violent, the world around him became less visible, now only a scarlet blur as faint voices called out to him. "Skips..." they were muffled.

Then, everything slowed down, nearly frozen, as he felt a sharp pain in his back. Slowly fading back to reality, he saw the strange man behind him, needle portruding from his skin. As his eyes grew droopy, he heard a distinct voice cry out in his subconscious. It was evil, demonic, insidious in nature.

"Hehe, soon, Skips...soon," it was recognizable, but in his current state, Skips had no idea who the mysterious voice belonged to. Then, everything went black.


	11. Joining the Damned

**Hey guys, Blake here. I know it's been a short while since the update, but I believed my story had stopped getting traffic, and I was fairly close to condemning it, but these reviews show me there is hope yet for my little story yet! :D Also, I want to thank you all for the o.c.'s as well, and I want to apologize for another short chapter, but from here forward, things are gonna get pretty intense, no spoilers.* One last thing, I'm also posting a new Minecraft story soon, very serious and depressing, and I hope you all will be there beside me for that too. I'm also considering story requests if anyone has any ideas for me...Anyway, thanks! -Blake**

_I don't know what it was that awakened me from my slumber, but when my eyes stirred to life, everything around me was frozen in place, my body lying on a cold, metallic surface. My friends, these other people I hardly knew, the machines, everything was stopped in the middle of its procedure, thereby 'pausing' the world, ready to play it again at a later date. Heavy footsteps echoed from somewhere, but I wasn't able to place the exact location. However, I knew it was near. I blinked, and opening my eyes once more revealed a malevolent silhouette, blocking my view of the light in the doorway. Stepping forward maliciously, it revealed itself to be the harbinger of chaos, the reaper; Death._

"Hehe, so your time has finally come, eh?" _The thick accent cut the air in a stale manner. My voice was raspy as I made a futile attempt to speak._

"Ur..." _My voice cracked, I was unable to speak. The reaper approached, boots clattering on the ground, and I was able to see my image in his reflective shades; I was hideous. A thick layer of blood was matted into my fur, and my muscular chest had two gashes across it, seeping sticky, crimson blood onto my body. Both my eyes were bloodshot, the left nearly swollen shut for some reason, and it seemed I was missing a nail...or two. Finally, I struggled to form a sentence. _ "Death, I-I'm not-dead. Why have-" _the reaper cut me off, but unbeknownst to him, I was elated to have my sentence finished._

"Why have the dead risen? Ha!" _A thin smile cracked on his bony face as he chortled, finding a place on the bed next to me. _"You see, my **friend," **_The emphasis on the last word disturbed me. _"There's only so much room in hell, it's finite, you see," _The concept was intriguing and terrifying at the same time. _"Now, the damned shall walk the earth until acted upon by a force of nature, or in this case, a force of man,"_ I noticed him look vaguely off to the floor. My friends stared blankly at me, frozen in place, as I had nearly forgotten about them. A few moments of silence later, the reaper stood, pulling a long blade from his back. My eyes narrowed, intent on his weapon. _"You are no different, Skips. **You are no different!" **_The conceivable world around me collapsed, my friends all falling into a void of some sort as Death bellowed over the thunderous lightning that had arisen. My voice returned for a moment as a statement passed through my lips._

"No, this is only a dream...they had to tranquilize me, to calm me down. The voices..." _Death's crooked smile grew in size as the fiery perch he stood upon grew taller. _

"The souls of the damned beckon to you, Skips. Why fight it?" _The blade rose high into the air as the sky tinted itself red, the world around me fading into the abyss of darkness in the void below me. The only two remaining were Death and I, lighting and hell and fire being the only things keeping us apart. Another gleam of light dashed towards the earth, this one striking his scythe and turning it an unearthly shade of blue, sparks flying all around. His hair flew wildly as his eyes narrowed, shades lost long ago to the wind. I spoke up._

"No! It won't end like this," _my voice was dry, and it hurt to scream over the roar of my environment. _"This is just a dream!" _Through the fire, I could make out Death in the distance as he slowly faded further and further away, now creating himself as an omnipotent being._

"Well if this is just a dream, Skips," _The voice was peculiar, calm almost, as the world around me froze, creating an image similar to the one I experienced earlier. An eerie silence engulfed me in an aura of darkness, blanketing all of my senses, but hearing. "__**Wake up,"**_


	12. Losing Blood, Gaining Hope

"He's unconscious, but alive," the man speaking was unknown to Benson, wearing a tight leather jacket that offsetted his postion as another nurse. Beneath the studded, shiny leather, a sweaty, ripped tee shirt lay bloody, spilling out onto his dark jeans. His white sneakers, however, were without stain. Benson was snapped back into reality from his curiousity as the man spoke again. "He's losing blood too fast, what the fuck did he do to himself?!" Amber stood beside him, blood now staining her white nurse's apron.

"He was thrashing around pretty hard in here, he probably damaged himself on the machines!" she promptly replied, applying pressure to the yeti's chest. Pops stood behind her, watching on in horror as the constant beep of the heart monitor was gradually slowing. Mordecai stood near Benson, afraid for his friend's life and also curious about the man tending to him. Ari stood solemnly in the doorway, beard coated in a thin layer of grime. Finally, the male nurse spoke again.

"Does anyone here have type A blood? He's gonna need a transfusion, and _fast!" _his words were hurried as he frantically scanned the room. Behind a small crowd of unrecognizable faces, a man spoke up.

"I've got type O," his words were faint at best as he pushed a woman aside to get to the front. Reflective sunglasses concealed his eyes, but he was wearing a green hoodie, blue jeans, and wore leather boots. Rolling back a sleeve, the nurse quickly began the transfusion to Skips, and Pops reeled in disgust at the first sight of blood, turning to the wall. Within a minute or two, the heart rate slowly began rising, and Benson cracked a smile.

Once the transfusion was complete, the donor collapsed, hitting the floor in agony. Benson rushed forward, lifting the concealed savior up to his feet.

"Are you alright?" the automation questioned.

"Yeah, I'm-I'm good..." his voice was dry.

"Mordecai, get him something to drink!" Benson commanded in a familiar voice. Dashing to the door, Mordecai was stopped by Ari, lifting his arms to signal stopping.

"Whoa, whoa...we still are unsure of your group, you stay here. I'll get the water," Mordecai wanted to lash back, but the Russian was already gone, a dark hallway swallowing him. Benson then turned to Skips' savior once more.

"What's your name?" the machine spoke softly. A slight cough bellowed from deep in the man's stomach, but then he spoke, albeit raspily.

"C-Cooper...I was the one who saw you all approaching," the memory of the crash flooded into Benson's mind as he answered. "I hit your front tires with the L96, but I didn't mean for the crash. I'm feel terrible that the green man died, but I had no idea he was hurt in the first place. Just trying to make sure you all were safe for the community, you know?" the words stung as they came out, and Benson was ready to drop the man back to the floor, but realized he had just saved another in their party and decided against it.

"Oh," Benson's tone was now blank, much less enthusiastic than before. "I see,"

"Yeah," his eyes were still unseen, but Benson knew he spoke the truth in his guilt. Finally, Ari returned, handing the glass to Cooper who promptly gulped in down in seconds. His voice was now whole, and he seemed instantly regenerated, pushing away Benson's hand that supported him upright. Finally, the male nurse broke the silence once more.

"He's stable right now," his hands were crimson as he pulled them away, wiping them on a filthy rag. "But I'm afraid that this was only the first of many transfusions. Sorry, Coop," he lightly joked at his friend, and also extended a bloody hand to Benson.

"The name's Jet," Benson nearly refused the gesture, but finally caved, rolling his hand around in the stickly blood on the nurse's hand.

"Benson. I'm guessing you're the other nurse, eh?" the man's eyes shimmered blue, nearly blinding Benson, or so it seemed.

"Well, not nurse, _per se, _I was a paramedic before all this, but I mostly just help Amber now," he wiped more of the blood onto the rag as he spoke. Amber took off her apron, tossing it to the side to be washed, and Mordecai stood behind Pops, mingling with the other survivors. Finally, Ari resumed his position as leader, moving from the back into the center of the mass. Then, he spoke.

"I'm guessing some introductions are in order now," everyone listened intently, stepping off to the side of him. "This is Benson, Pops, and Mordecai," he ushered to the group from the park, and they politely waved. "The yeti before us is Skips, and Cooper here, as we all know," they casually tossed a glance to him, then back to Ari. "Will be supplying blood for our new friend. Now, we turn the tables," the tight suit he wore crinkled as he turned to the new additions. "Fellas, this is Rae," a young, tan woman stepped forward, wearing only a tanktop, skirt, and wavy blond hair. Mordecai nearly drooled at the sight as Ari resumed. "She's Cooper's _girlfriend_," out of the corner of his eye, Ari noticed the bluejay, ensuring he would put extra emphasis on the last word. Muttering something indescribable under his breath, Mordecai looked up.

"Hi," she said sheepishly, one hand raised to awkwardly introduce herself. Another woman stepped forward, this one in her late fifties. Thick, silver hair coated her head as she approached.

"This is Elizabeth," the Russian moved his head slightly, confirming the woman matched the name.

"Hello," she said, turning away quickly and disappearing behind the others.

"Bruce," a tall black man stepped forward, towering over Benson. He had a dark black beard and mustache, and was very thin, wearing a long purple tee and jeans.

"Hey," a gargantuan, but thin arm raised, signaling a welcome, and Benson tried not to let the shock get the best of him. This man had to be at least six foot-eleven, but Benson gulped and greeted him kindly.

"Hey," he said casually, raising an arm. It seemed this was good enough for Bruce, as he stepped back into the midst of the others, still very visible.

"And last, but not least," the crowd split as Ari spoke, revealing a lone man peering out the window at the end of the room.

"Kane," the man did not turned, still vacantly peering into the distance.

"Um, hello?" Mordecai was slightly irritated. Without even glancing, a soft greeting emanated from him.

"Hey," the voice was gruff, and his build was muscular, probably only a bit weaker than Skips. His arms bulged in the thin jacket he was wearing, and he sported an overgrown buzz-cut. Ari then filled in for the gap of silence left by his comrade, whispering to Benson.

"Kane's always been reserved, but a week ago, he lost his son," Benson's eyes dimmed after hearing this, but Mordecai was still annoyed by the behavior.

"Rude piece of-" the mutter was stifled by an elbow from Benson, followed by a reply.

"He lost his kid, asswipe," Mordecai's expression quickly turned too, realizing how insensitive he'd been. The group slowly began mingling again, leaving Kane to his window before Ari broke apart the group once more.

"Alright, it's time for you to head back to your rooms. I just have to evaluate Mordecai now and then you should be home free," a dim smile found its way to Ari's face, but quickly diminished as he stepped away. Everyone piled out of the room, Bruce having to duck and avoid the doorway, leaving only Pops alone with Skips. He took off his hat in respect, then walked away, tears filling his eyes.


	13. Humanity Salvaged?

** Hey again, guys. Blake here, I just want to thank you all for the continued support, and today marks a special milestone for the story in longest chapter so far! :D, not much action contained within, but I have to say, I will more than compensate in the next two chapters, which should be up soon, hopefully! Also, I want to thank you all for the o.c. submissions, but sadly, submissions are now closed. However, I will be doing review responses from now forward, if there are any questions or suggestions. I also highly appreciate constructive criticism and **_**long reviews...(hint, hint) **_**Anyway, thanks for the support, and enjoy the chapter! -Blake**

Weeks had passed since the group arrived, and now finally, almost a month later, everything was slowly becoming routine; Benson and Ari were both the prominent leaders in their respective groups, but when the two merged together, hands down, Ari led them. Skips was recovering, albeit slowly, and was still in a coma, and bonds were quickly being made between all the survivors.

Supply runs were occasional at most, and life was gradually becoming normal, nowhere near what it once was, but _somewhat normal._ The days were flying by, Benson getting to know his new friends, and he seemed to grow a special bond with Bruce, who was a retired park manager, also. Ari was becoming less of an authority figure and more of a normal civilian as the days trudged on, and everything seemed to be perfect.

"Hey, Bruce?" a faint thump could be heard from the weak, plywood door.

"Yeah?" a voice was somewhere distant inside as Benson creaked the door open, revealing a cluttered mess of clothes and supplies scattered around a dirty, shag carpet, morning light glistening through the torn curtains. The giant peeked his head around the corner, smoke rolling out from behind him as a slight whiff of bacon caught Benson's nose. "Oh, sorry the house is a wreck, I didn't realize I'd be having any company. Manners, the first thing lost to the undead, eh?" he joked, sliding a pan around in his hand, grease popping in every direction. Benson chuckled.

"Yeah, hehe. Do you mind if I..."

"Sure, come on in. I was making bacon, you can have some if you want," he turned back to his cooking, disregarding Benson's presence entirely.

"Oh, no, no thanks. I just ate down in the cafeteria, if you could call it a cafeteria," the automation sat comfortably on the leather couch, pulling a remote from under the ripped throw pillow on the opposite side. "Elizabeth made muffins. I think there are still some down there, I mean, if you want..." His friend was already around the corner, holding a plate full of bacon as he plopped down onto the nearby chair.

"Nah, I don't really like muffins. Did you put it in yet?" it was obvious Bruce was comfortable with Benson by now.

"Oh, no," Benson was sheepish as he pulled a dvd from its case, inserting it into the player and waiting. "So, how'd you sleep?" the black man chuckled back, beard appearing white in the incandescent light flooding from the kitchen.

"Didn't sleep a wink," he chuckled, popping the cooked pork into his mouth and crunching it with ease. "I wonder how the others slept..."

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxXx]

"Sorry, Coop," Jet spoke with anguish for his friend, feeling terrible about his current state. Cooper sat in the sleek, leathery chair beside the metallic table Skips lay upon, face pale white and his hands shaking. "He needs another transfusion," A surgical glove slipped over Jet's hand as he reached forward toward his friend, gripping an IV in the other. Cooper's hand was lightning fast as he gripped loosely to Jet's arm, pleading.

"Please, man..." his words were slurring as he struggled to stand. "I can't take much more, I only have so much to give," though the reflective shades resting upon his ears concealed his eyes, Jet knew he was crying. Setting the IV aside, Jet stopped, peering down at the jittering man, now convulsing on the floor.

"You're right, Coop. You deserve better. We'll give you three days to recooperate, then we'll be back to the schedule," as he spoke, he opened the supply closet and grabbed a blanket, draping it over the freezing Cooper. Before he was able to retrieve more supplies for Skips, Cooper spoke again.

"Th-three days? Are you serious? I won't be better by then," his words were tumbling over themselves as he violently convulsed on the floor, desperately searching for warmth.

"Cooper, are you alright, man?"

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxXxXx]

After several hard weeks, Kane was slowly recovering from the loss of his son, with help from regular visits from Pops. Despite his rough appearance, Kane thoroughly enjoyed Pops being around, his childish nature somewhat reminding him of his son. He knew this was untrue and it never could be, but he could always imagine.

"Why Kane, are you feeling quite alright today?" the voice would be recognized anywhere, squeaky in nature as it echoed through the modest home.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Pops. You up for another round of chess, today?" It seemed Kane's appearance was quite deceitful, as he was an intelect as well.

"Why, I adore chess!" Pops pulled a seat towards the table where Kane was now residing, pulling the tattered chess box from the floor and onto the surface. Several plastic pieces of black and white scattered, rolling around as Pops dumped it out in a carefree manner, picking up any stragglers that dare fall to the floor.

"Hehe, you gonna try and beat me this time, or are you just gonna role-play with the pieces some more?" Pops' behavior wasn't accepted as normal by many, if any at all, but Kane didn't mind a bit, still reminded of the joy his son brought to him.

"Well, I don't know, Kane, will I role-play?" his voice was distorted as the lollipop man concealed his mouth movement, moving the knight around as if it were speaking. This was to Kane's delight, them both laughing heartily, followed by Pops actually setting up the board. "You know, Kane, I almost lost this," the king stood prominently on the board as Pops placed it down, Kane now curiously placing his pawns.

"Lost _what?"_ another king now stood, opposite to the other as if daring it to challenge him.

"My humanity," the naivety in Pops' eyes was nonexistent as he spoke. "The apocalypse can change you, as I found out the hard way. In fact, you can thank Benson for me regaining my personality. The reality check was harsh, but necessary," now the black side of the board stood ready, the white still in preparations as Kane finally placed his queen.

"Yeah, I know how it is. If you haven't already noticed, I'm not as tough as I make myself out to be, but I had to show Joey I could be strong..." suddenly, his eyes lost all luster. _"Joey..."_ Pops noticed, then quickly made his first move, a pawn jumping forward.

"It's alright, my good man. Grieve as you will, it's perfectly alright, I don't mind," Kane wiped a tear away, then tried to forget.

"You know white always goes first, right?" Kane chuckled.

"Why no, I did not," Pops' attempt to hold a serious face failed miserably as the two laughed hysterically, having a grand time. Sure, they weren't exactly normal, but they were happy.

[xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX xXxXxXx]

The distinct sound of clicking could be heard, something like that of footseteps, as Rae stepped out of the shower, bath towel being the only thing concealing her body. As she stepped out into the cold air, ready to return to her room, she noticed Mordecia standing directly where she was headed. He had not noticed her, making this apparent as he accidentally stumbled into her, causing a loss of grip on the towel, and finally, it hit the floor. Mordecia finally realized what he had done and turned to face her, but he was at a loss for words as for what had happened.

"_Oh, fuck! I-_I didn't mean to-_shit!"_ He tried his best to conceal his eyes, but it futile, her naked body everywhere, even when he tried to look away. In his defense, however, her high pitched squeals of terror weren't helping the situation either. As they both fumbled past each other, Mordecai was traumatized by what he had done to her. He noticed tears streaming down her face as she ran as fast as she could away, nude. He felt extremely terrible about what he had just done, but he knew deep down, somewhere in his subconscious..._he enjoyed it._

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxXxXxXxXxX xXxXx]

"Did you hear that?" Benson was hearing nothing, save for the repetitive crunch of his friend's bacon eating.

"No, what was it?" the machine was curious, but Bruce disregarded it entirely, clicking the remote voraciously in an attempt to change the volume.

"Eh, sounded like a scream or a squeal, or maybe a squeak-Hell, I don't know," his feet were on the coffee table as he resumed his snack, and Benson soon disregarded it too, inent on the re-runs of old football games Bruce had found stowed away somewhere. After several minutes and the occasional touchdown, Benson broke the silence.

"So did you like it? Being a park manager, and all?" he noticed a subtle change as Bruce spoke, not necessarily for the better.

"Well, it was alright, I guess. You know, the usual type of thing," the giant removed his feet from the coffee table, lowering the volume as he did so. "But you know, I didn't retire; _I quit,"_ The words raised many questions in Benson's mind. His eyes growing, Benson drew back.

"What? Why?" An expression of sorrow plastered itself across Bruce's face as he spoke.

"We had a guy, an employee, actually...he was a good man, always getting his work done and stuff," Benson was impatient.

"..And?"

"Well, one day, he shows up to work, hammered drunk and hellbent, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a .45 in the other,"

"..What!?" Benson nearly stood up from the couch, but Bruce calmed him down.

"His wife had left him the day before, and damned if he wasn't get fucked up by that morning...I-I had a license for conceal-and-carry, Benson...I-I shot him," the light in his eyes were now down to a dim glint as he spoke.

"Oh, god, Bruce...I'm sorry to hear that," Benson felt terrible for even mentioning anything.

"The sad thing is, I knew he was coming, but there was nothing I could do," Benson's sympathy was replaced by curiosity once again as he questioned.

"How?" Bruce let out a deep sigh, then finally spoke again.

"He was my brother-in-law, Benson. My sister left him the day before," Benson now felt a special level of awful as he placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Man, forget I brought this up. I'm really sorry, Bruce, I am,"

"It's okay, you didn't know, its just-" before either of the two could continue, Ari burst into the room, a solemn look frozen on his face as he stood.

"We have a problem," Benson noticed him sliding a Beretta from its holster as he spoke to them.

"What is it, Ari?" Bruce had forgotten about his heartfelt story entirely as he pulled a Sig-Sauer handgun from under the couch cushions.

"-We aren't alone,"


	14. Into The Shadows

A sharp dressed man in military attire stood directly near the door of the compound, which Benson soon realized he had never seen the outside of; the base they had all now come to call home was a medium sized building with a strong foundation and four towers on each corner. It looked as though it was once a military base, with the group inside having access to many weapons, and several army vehicles sat in the opened garage to the side of it. Jeeps of every sort and a stray helicopter were scattered across the nearby vincinity, each one spitting sparks or sitting idly, totally destroyed. Blood caked the road approaching the base, and another vehicle, presumably the strange visitor's, sat directly ahead of the group. Ari was the first to speak.

"Who are you?" he demanded, no hint of kindness in his voice. The soldier stepped forward, many medals glinting in the sunlight. He was surprisingly young.

"We are from a disavowed portion of the army, the Shadows, as they called us. The initiative for our branch was demolished long before any of us saw action, but we were still trained and deadly," a crooked smile was plastered on his face as he spoke in a calm manner. Ari bellowed again.

_ "And? _What the fuck do you want?" he barked. The soldier stayed calm, despite Ari's demands.

"Ah, where are my manners..." turning, the soldier ushered to the car, two other men proceeding out and to his side. Both of them wore full body armor, albeit damaged, and what appeared to be the gear of a covert operations squad; Night vision, thermal scopes, riot shields, kevlar protection, the works, all adorning their bodies as a symbol of warriors. Bruce grew suspicious, stepping back from the group slowly, very wary of their presence. "A disavowed military branch, this information is irrelevant to you...what we came here for is to recruit you,"

"Recruit us?" Benson was confused and suspicious. Turning, the soldier looked on at him.

"Yes, civilization is thriving in the west. There is plenty of room, food, water, enough for a life worth li-" the Russian cut him off.

"I don't think so. Thanks for the offer, Captain..._uh..."_

"It's Fletcher. Captain Fletcher," his tone was now more somber, and he seemed a bit more reserved. "I will assure you, however, that humanity is alive, I promise. We can guarantee your safety if you come with us, we were trained for this type of protocol long before anything of this proportion occurred," Benson turned, curious.

"You mean the..._zombies?" _

"The organisms, yes. If you reduce it to its basic form, you could consider them zombies...Ah, I'm getting away from the point-we were trained specifically to deal with events like these, this 'apocalypse,' as you call it. We were trained to handle it-"

_"Then why the fuck didn't you?!" _Benson hadn't noticed, but Ari had his gun on Fletcher the whole time. Before another second could pass, Ari was on the ground, several shots from Fletcher's assault rifle boring into his legs. However, both of Fletcher's men were down in an instant when Bruce pulled his handgun, killing them both instantly. In the final stand, it was Fletcher, Benson, and Bruce, all with guns loaded and ready. Ari writhed on the ground in pain, mumbling for them to fire.

"No one else has to die here, fellas! You're friend, he can still make it. I've been trained to neutralize threats non-lethally, and he's gonna be okay!" sweat dripped down his face prominently as he spoke.

_"Fuck...shoot...him..."_ sputters and gasps were audible as Ari attempted to speak.

"He'll be okay, I promise, but he shouldn't have pulled a gun, that was only going to make things worse," Bruce's eyes were narrow as he watched Fletcher's every movement. The captain was very young, probably no older that twenty-five, but Bruce had killed before. "I need an answer now, guys. I'm not leaving here empty-handed!"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Benson and Bruce hadn't noticed, but Mordecai was now behind them, rifle in hand, crosshairs on Fletcher's skull. They all noticed Fletcher curse under his breath, then speak again.

"I'm sorry, but I need an answer. They'll kill me if they find out I came back with nothing!" he seemed very small, even with the carbine gripped tightly in his hands.

"Doesn't sound like a fun place to live, eh, Bruce?" Benson joked; Fletcher was now at their mercy.

"I assure you, if you kill me, there will be consequences," he was trembling as he sat his rifle down, signifying he wasn't going to endanger them. "Please, just come to the west...The Shadows there are capable of protecting all of you, I promise!" his eyes pleaded for mercy, but in his subconscious, he knew he would receive none. Mordecai broke the silence left by Fletcher, shoving the rifle into his face as he drew close.

"I don't know who you are, but you are now leaving," the gun in his face didn't seem to be enough incentive, as Fletcher drew the courage to speak again.

"I just want what's safest for you, please, come to the city. Please, don't kill me, and I promise you'll be safe. Besides, there will be consequences if y-"

"That's the second fucking time I've heard that. What kind of consequences? More 'Shadows?'" Mordecai was relentless as he pushed the man to the ground. Now, he realized what Fletcher really was as he lie helplessly on the ground; A boy.

"Oh god, please don't hurt me, man," tears streamed down his face as he pleaded. "I really don't want t-"

BLAM!

Everything around was still as the gunshot reverberated around, only the sound of the idle car engine breaking the silence. Fletcher was dead, and everyone left standing turned to the source of the fatal shot. Ari lay still on the ground, Desert Eagle still smoking in his hand as the blood gushed from his legs in torrents. The air was stale as the Russian accent swept through it.

"There, now that's a _fucking consequence,"_


	15. Blood On Our Hands

"...z...zzz..."

"_Shhh..._did you all hear that?" the faint crackle of a radio was muffled under Fletcher's body. Approaching it, Mordecai removed the device, holding it up to hear better.

"...zzz..._Fletch-_ou copy? The sentries heard gunshots, are-alright?" Mordecai glanced at the others with a puzzled look, then turned back to the crackling radio.

"...Fletcher? The sentries heard audible gunshots! Do you copy!?"

"Don't just stand there! Do something!" Bruce's voice was hushed, but very panicked. Before Mordecai could react, the rest of the group filed out the main entrance, all wary of the gunshot they had heard.

"Is everything okay?" Jet was concerned, but had other priorities, such as helping Cooper maintain balance.

"Yeah, ever...thing ok...?" Cooper was deteriorating.

"We heard gunshots!" Kane appeared angered, gripping a handgun in one hand and a tactical knife in the other. Pops had apparently gotten his hands on a rifle in the midst of all this, and all the women stood unarmed.

"Oh, shit! Ari!" Rae fell to the ground, grasping his hand in comfort, feeling terrible for his condition. Unbeknownst to her, Cooper was mildly jealous.

"This was all the work of these fuckers, 'The Shadows,' as they call themselves," Benson ushered to the three fallen corpses in their midst. "They sh-" the crackle of the radio interrupted Benson.

"Fletcher! For god's sake, respond, or we'll proceed to phase two without your unit!" The group all looked on in horror, wondering what the words 'phase two' could hold. Finally, mustering all the courage and the best impression he could, Mordecai held down the button on the device.

"This is Fletcher, I copy," the silence in-between Mordecai's response and the other person's was an eternity. Every single second passed felt like a decade as he awaited the response. Finally, the distorted, crackling voice responded over the device.

"Thank god, you're alive. Did you get the subjects?" _Subjects? What the hell was this Fletcher guy doing? _The group all sighed deeply at the sheer stupidity of the man on the other end as Mordecai responded again.

"Uh, yeah, I got 'em. I had to kill one though, they tried to fight back," he felt very stupid saying this, entangling himself more into the lies, but he knew there was no other escape. In anxiety, the group continued to wait for the response, afraid of what might come.

"Alright. I'll send in the transport to pick 'em up, and we'll take them back to the lab. Doctor Cowell is gonna be excited he got new guinea pigs, hehe," the man on the other end chuckled malevolently, then was quiet. Mordecai cringed at the thought, then finally replied, which was to everyone's dismay.

"Yeah, hehe, I bet he will,"

"Did you see anyone else in the city? Anymore survivor bands to recruit, or can we move on to phase two once we get out of here?" Mordecai was getting further tangled into the lies, fearing he would slip up.

"Uh, no sir. Bloomington is clear," There was no response on the other end for eight intense seconds, before it finally came back to life.

"...did you just...call me _sir?"_ Mordecai's life drained away as he sat, shaking.

"I-uh-did," sweat beads were now rolling down freely as his eyes darted around frantically.

"I'm not your superior..._Who the fuck is this?!" _the voice hissed. Mordecai dropped the radio, then turned to everyone to speak. However, the term 'actions speak louder than words' was quite apparent, as before he had even turned, they were all already into the base, preparing. Mordecai was the last to make it to the door, but not before hearing a cryptic message unfold over the radio.

"Turner, prepare the F-22s with the F.A.E.'s. If we can't hold 'em off, I want those raptors out here as fast as you can send them. These pieces of shit aren't getti-" gunfire in the distance was enough to drive Mordecai into the base for refuge, unable to hear the rest of the message unraveled. A trail of blood led up to Bruce who was carrying the wounded Ari down the hall towards the stairwell. Everyone sprinted up them with Amber being the first to the top, desperately searching for her keys to the security door. As she scrambled around, she found herself face-to-face with Benson, who promptly opened it with his Colt. As everyone dashed to the armory, suddenly, the question crossed Mordecai's mind.

"What the hell is an F.A.E.?" his voice carried, the question directed at no one in particular. In mere seconds, the hallway was clear, only Ari not headed towards the armory as he lie silently on the ground. After several seconds, he broke the silence in a raspy voice.

"Did you say...F.A.E.?" the Russian was concerned.

"Yeah?" the blue-jay was panicking. Ari was calm and reserved, but Mordecai knew what he was about to hear wouldn't be pretty.

"F.A.E. Fuel-Air Explosive,"

"Huh?" Mordecai wasn't following.

"It's a thermobaric weapon, a bomb. If dropped, the air will ignite around us, so if the blast doesn't kill us, the fire will," Ari was tranquil as he spoke, but Mordecai was terrified.

"WHAT?!" the bird screeched.

"We have a fight on our hands, now. We must destroy them, but even if we do, there's still a large chance we won't make it out of this alive,"

"No, no, there has to be another way!" the bird ran around frantically, afraid for his life. Ari calmed him.

"You must be more calm about this; You cannot defeat your enemy if you can't even control youself," Mordecai noticed his breathing becoming slower and his words forced.

"Ari, man, please don't die," Mordecai was now kneeling beside the Bloomington leader.

"If I am to die, then I will die. That is how things work, but if I must go, take this," pulling a revolver from his pocket, he handed it to the bird, revealing it to have one bullet in the chamber.

"What? Ari, I don't see why I need this," a finger was brought to his beak by the dying Russian.

"If you are cornered, no escape by either the Shadows or the undead, I wish you to have this bullet. I hope that you find no use for it, but if the time comes, you'll wish you had it,"

"You mean to...to commit..." Mordecai was unable to finish, interrupted by his nodding comrade.

"For two years, that revolver has seen no use," a weak arm found its way to the bird's shoulder as he spoke. "I hope it can stay that way," without another word, he faded off into nothing, the spraying crimson mist from his leg nonexistent as the blood began to pool around him. Before Mordecai was able to mourn, or even stand, a comforting hand made its way to his shoulder. When he turned, he saw something quite unexpected.

"_Skips?_"


	16. Taking A Stand

**This is it, guys, the stand for Bloomington. The most action any of you will ever see, I presume! :D Muhahaha! I also want to note that no one's o.c. is safe now, everyone is up for death! It's all about luck and how they react to situations, so you'd better hope you gave them some survivor skills! That will be all...**

**-Blake**

Every single able-bodied survivor now had a weapon, ranging from military-grade rifles to baseball bats. Ari was now dead, and Benson was the closest thing to a leader the group had now. They had prepared for an event such as this happening, but nothing of this magnitude. Each of the best marksman, Jet, Kane, Cooper, and Skips, all found a place in the base's four protruding turrets, a nice place to snipe from afar. The women all stood, each one with either a gun, bat, or knife, near the armory for protection, and Bruce paced the hallway, gripping a handgun and frag grenade. Pops and Benson took cover outside, waiting for the imminent attack, and Mordecai waited in the tower along with Skips, gripping a rocket launcher tightly; Benson's theory was true, as this was a military base.

The sun was now cresting, high in the sky, gleaming down upon the shining scrap metal in front of the building. The crimson blood on the asphalt leading up to it was dim in comparison to the burning ember of the star, making it nearly impossible to see anything from a distance. However, the audible sounds of gunfire and engines far off confirmed everyone's fears, indicating the enemies were nearing.

Dozens of rotting corpses trudged through the light unaffected, and also unaware of the presence of living creatures. They were so much more hideous in the day, Benson noted.

Finally, a distant glint caught Mordecai's eyes as he raised the binoculars; A large hummer approached steadily over the horizon, at least half a dozen men residing within. Glimmering in the light, he noticed a large, manned machine gun atop it prominently. Skips raised his rifle, but the five vehicles preceding the first were enough to stop him; They were screwed.

As the cars drew nearer, Benson noticed the first one stop, at least a hundred yards away. A tall, clean-cut man stepped out in the same get-up Fletcher had on, ushering for the other vehicles to stop as well. His words were inaudible, but his gestures made him out to be furious.

"I've got a clean shot," Jet mouthed the words across the far right turret to Mordecai, but he stifled him.

"Not yet, I'm not sure if they're aware of our location," he felt intelligent stating this, however, the feeling retracted the second the gunfire resumed. Dirt and concrete fell to the ground, shaking the worn building and peppering it with holes. Mordecai wasted no time in lifting the launcher up to face the assailants, aiming at the first hummer who fired. With the machine gunner in his cross hairs, he readied his hand.

"No, wai-" the deafening sound of the rocket propelling itself forward drowned Skips' voice entirely as it made contact with its target accurately, ending in a sickening explosion. Mordecai was ecstatic, and when he turned to Skips, he was shocked.

Most of his fur was now charcoal black, singed terribly from the back blast of the launcher, and large blisters coated his body, blood seeping from a few.

"_Oh, shit," _Mordecai had never even considered the consequences of firing, only the exhilaration of a confirmed kill. "Oh, god, I'm sorry Skips," lifting the yeti, he pulled himself down the ladder and back into the base.

"Wait," Cooper turned, only to see the south turret now unmanned. "You can't leave, it'll-" The collision of the bullet with his face was inevitable, passing cleanly through his brain as a fine mist sprayed from behind his cranium and staining his green hoodie.

"Cooper! SHIT!" Jet was helpless in his tower, unable to reach Cooper's aid, even though he knew he was already dead. Before he had time to react, several rounds from sniper fire whizzed past his head, indicating it was time to take cover.

On the ground, Benson and Pops were putting up a good fight, continually keeping suppressive fire on their enemies, and there was not a second that went by without Benson's Colt ejecting shells rapidly. However, the Shadows seemed to keep coming.

"Contact right, contact right!" one of the grunts stepped forward, gripping a combat shotgun tightly. As Benson peeked up, he instantly fired three rounds into his armor, but it was to no avail; He was a juggernaut of some sort, wielding the best armor money could buy as he approached, albeit lead ejected from its barrel, the shotgun fired, ensuring Benson and Pops would stay down.

BOOM!

Another volley of pellets whistled through the destroyed vehicle Benson and Pops took refuge in, narrowly missing them. Another came, and then another, each one barely missing its intended target. Finally, the grunt was upon them, shotgun gripped tightly in hand, and they both knew what was coming at that point.

BOOM!

_...wait, what? _Benson's mind was racing, wondering what had become of them. He felt no pain, and instantly believed himself to now be in the afterlife. However, when he opened his eyes, he realized he was dead wrong. _What the fu- _He peered up, seeing Kane with his rifle in hand, still smoking from the round. Upon closer inspection of the grunt's body, Benson noticed a single hole penetrating the Shadow's glasses. _That was a helluva shot..._

"Wells is down, I repeat, Wells is down. We're losing men, keep the raptors ready," the voice was recognizable, the one on the radio, and it seemed it belonged to the man barking orders at the others. The machine gun fire was constant from the Shadows, hummers convulsing violently from the consistent volley of lead thrusting from atop them, and more grunts filed from the vehicles behind, each one with the body armor Fletcher's two henchmen had.

"You alright?" Benson's voice was loud over the humming of gunfire.

"A bit shaken, but I'm quite alright, I assure you," Pops was shaking.

"Good, I need you," the automation's arm tugged at the lollipop man, indicating he should follow, and he did so promptly. Dashing in through the main entrance, they both burst through the broken security door Benson had opened earlier with his pistol, meeting Bruce at in the hall.

"Where are the rest of them? Did they get out?" Benson could see right through the giant; he was terrified.

"Kane is still out there, and Cooper is-"

"Dead," None of them noticed, but Jet was already behind them. "And I'm sorry to say, so is Kane. Their snipers are getting too many of us, we have to retreat!" Mordecai stepped in from a nearby doorway.

"Guys, Skips is hurt again. He's gonna be alright, but he can't fight right now," the blue-jay's words were rushed. Behind him, Amber rushed out.

"The Shadows are getting too close, their vehicles are moving again. In a few minutes, we'll all be dead!" everyone faced her, knowing she was correct. For five intense seconds, they let it set in, before Bruce finally broke the silence engulfing them.

"I can buy us a bit of time. If it's a fight they want..." by this time, he already had his hands on the launcher Mordecai had dropped, loading in another rocket. "It's a fight they'll get," before anyone could convince him otherwise, he was already through the door, dashing down the stairs to meet destiny.

"No, Bruce, wait!" Benson attempted to call for his friend, but found himself being dragged forcibly away by Jet. He didn't struggle, as he knew this would only make things worse, and they all gathered into what they used as the cafeteria.

"Alright, guys, this is it. The tunnels under the base can lead to an escape, but I'm not sure how far we'll get out in the open," Jet was afraid, but everyone listened intently.

"It's better than taking a stand here, I presume," everyone turned to face Benson as he spoke.

"True, I suppose. We can access the tunnels thr-" Jet's voice was cut off by the loud gunshot behind them. Nearly deaf, everyone hit the floor from the sound in the enclosed area, and when Pops finally managed himself up, he saw something he wished he hadn't.

"_E-Elizabeth?_" the old woman lay lifeless on the ground, handgun clenched tightly in her hands. She had taken the easy way out, it seemed, which enraged Rae.

"NO!" she hit the floor in agony, gripping the woman's hand desperately. "Why the fuck would you do this," tears were streaming freely. "..._mom..."_

"Mom?" Benson was entangled in confusion, but before Rae could continue mourning, a loud explosion shook the building.

"Sounds like Bruce got a few, hehe," Jet's joke was dry. "Alright, we need to get into the tunnels, follow me," everyone did as they were told, following the medic quickly.

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxxXx XxXxXxxxXXxX]

Blood, sweat, and dirt caked Bruce's broken face as he loaded another rocket into the launcher. Dozens of Shadows were tossed around like rag dolls from his first blast, and their vehicles were now at a halt; He had to act now.

Another rocket found itself tearing into metal as yet another hummer was transformed into burning bits of flying scrap. Bruce was sweating intensely, now down to only two rockets. His drive to help his friends, however, allowed him to persevere, loading another into the chamber, firing off towards the convoy. This one, however, missed its mark, ejecting wildly from the chamber and crashing far beyond its intended target; A dud, he thought to himself.

Before the next could be inserted, the sickening crunch of bones being shattered echoed through his mind as he hit the ground in sheer agony. A fine past of gore painted the wall behind him as he lay nearly dead on the ground. Summoning every ounce of strength left within his body, he sat up, eager to murder the bastards responsible. Noticing his adversary's attempts, the Shadow leader chortled to himself.

"Hehe, this fucker aint quittin', is he? Let's have some fun," his words were malicious as he lowered his weapon, stepping forward towards the injured giant. Before he could get any further in loading the weapon, Bruce found his hand being crushed by the towering enemy above him. "Why did it come to this, man? You could've just hid inside, like the rest of the pussies, and maybe we would've spared you, counted you as a woman, or something, HA!" Bruce's emotions were overloaded at the monster before him. "He, I think we'll let you live, actually. Let Doctor Cowell see what he can do with those drugs he's been working on, eh?" the chuckle was malevolent.

"_Urngh...I-" _Bruce's attempts to speak were beginning to become more futile as the pressure on his hand became stronger.

"What the fuck is the matter, _nigger?"_ Bruce was now the harbinger of fury. If he was standing, absolutely nothing would remain of this monster. No traces, nothing at all left of him, and Bruce knew he would enjoy every bit of it. His neck tightened, revealing dozens of steaming veins as he desperately attempted to pull his grip out and reach the rocket. Then, something else crossed his mind.

"I..._hurngh..._" his attempts to salvage his voice box were becoming more futile by the second. By this time, two other Shadows had found their way beside their leader, laughing at the dying man.

"Hehe, let him up, Neeson. I think he's got something to tell us," their attempts to stifle their crooked laughter failed miserably.

"Alright," all pressure was removed from his hand at once, revealing it to now be a bloodied, crushed mass of writhing flesh. "You need to hands to load a rocket launcher, dumb ass!" Bruce's eyes narrowed at the laughing Shadows.

"But you only need one..." for a moment, they stopped, looking down at him, waiting for him to finish the cryptic sentence.

_Click._

"To pull a pin," The Shadows now noticed the frag on his belt, but it was too late, as the shrapnel had already shredded every one of them to a bloody pulp. As they hit the ground, sticky, scarlet blood began seeping from their peppered bodies, and the only three shadows remaining were terrified.

"Yankee five-three, do you copy?" there was a gap of silence before his radio crackled to life again.

"Yeah, Alpha-two, I read you. Go,"

"It seems we've underestimated their strength," the roar of the engine cut off his broadcast as he started the hummer, engine idling. "Neeson is dead, as is most of his squadron. Turley, Jackson and I are alive, but we're heading back to base," tires squalling, the vehicle set off, all three of the grunts shaken from the attack.

"Are there any survivors on their part?"

"Yeah, a few," dust was tossed around, as was gravel, as they attempted to get out of the city. "And I have a request,"

"What do you require?" the voice was monotonous, unaffected by the casualty report.

"As soon as we clear the city, I want those raptors out here with the F.A.E.s, got it?" there was silence, and after at least thirty seconds, the voice responded.

"You've cleared the radius. The F-22's are inbound, copy?" a slick smile found its way to the grunt's face.

"I copy,"


	17. Separate Worlds

**Hey guys, Blake here. This chapter isn't really considered progression yet, but a different point of view; Apparently there were others who roamed freely, and now you will know their story. I still enjoy all the reviews, and I hope everyone who reads this could supply me one! I'll answer any questions you have, (if any) and also I'm opening another o.c. Contest. However, I will only accept one, and there are a few conditions that it must meet; **

**Must be a dominant leader**

**Must have many details about looks, personality, and past.**

**I will definitely be adding my own little twists to this one, but I shall allow you to run rampant for now! My regards,**

**-Blake**

"Look!" the cry was distinct to the father, his son having sprinted ahead of him.

"Michael!" rushing to his aid, the father chastised the boy harshly. Getting down to his knees, he pointed at him. "You can't run ahead like that, and you know it. There could be zombies anywhere!"

"I know...I'm sorry, dad," the boy was young, no older than eight, with dirty blonde hair and ripped, dirty clothes. His green eyes shimmered in the warm sunlight, and he seemed upset after being scolded. With a pitiful look, the father apologized.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, but I was afraid I'd lose you," in a kind embrace, the two hugged. When the father stood, he revealed himself to be in his early thirties, donning a thin beard, coarse hair, and a bloody flannel. A long blade was draped across his back, along with a handgun in its holster. "Now, what was it you wanted me to look at, Michael?" A pudgy arm tossed itself in the general direction of the sun, revealing several gleaming vehicles rolling away, seemingly unaware of the duo's presence.

The man's eyes grew wide in anticipation as he burst forward, shouting and raising his arms in an attempt to gain attention.

"HEY! Hey!" after a few minutes, the subtle sound of engines subsided, and the father realized his chance was lost. However, he had received some attention after all.

"Um, dad-?" the voice was terrified. Turning, the father saw two of the undead steadily closing in on his spawn.

"-Michael! Hold on!" in a flash, the ghouls were down, gore and pus painting the asphalt beneath them as the man sheathed the sword. "Are you alright?" his breathing was erratic as he stumbled over himself, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"I'm fine, but I don't think it's over yet..." Michael's voice was cryptic, but also somehow innocent. As he turned, the father noticed something horrific; At least a dozen zombies had now gathered themselves into the street, attracted to the loud organisms before them. Shambling and tripping their ways out of dilapidated buildings, they focused all their attention on the easier target; the boy.

"Alright, stay behind me," the man's voice became low as he backed himself into a doorway. His training as an ex-marine had taught him it would be much easier to take on only one target at a time, and keeping himself in an enclosed area would do just that. In a matter of seconds, the first wave of the undead had reached them, but a quick flick of the wrist left the first spraying a crimson mist into the air where its head had once been. The second was downed quickly as well, sword partially opening its gullet, spilling gore around the entrance. The third ghoul was a bit trickier, having approached from the side of doorway, but it was still no match for the superior fighter.

After the third ghoul had dropped, all hell broke loose; The father's carefully thought-out plan came to an end when a rogue hurled itself violently through the adjacent window, alerting others to the new-found entrance. In a few seconds, the two were overrun, and sprinted further into the facility, the father having now opted for his pistol. With a clear line of vision, the boy burst up the nearby stairwell, stopping atop the first flight to watch the slaughter below.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

The hallway before him lit up several times from the intense muzzle flares, and an eerie period of silence engulfed him for nearly eight seconds. The entrancing state was obliterated the second the father burst through, at least a dozen ghouls trailing. As they continued up the seemingly endless flights, the father realized the boy just wasn't fast enough.

In only a few seconds, the boy was in his arms, flailing around wildly as the father continued to sprint, exerting every bit of energy he had left. A bright light could be seen easily at the top, and the father trudged the last stretch painfully, zombies only a few feet behind him.

He made it to the top, and realized the light was from a doorway. It seemed as though it were miles away, and his assailants were right on top of him, but he knew he couldn't quit. Not now, not ever. He was so close now, practically tasting the warm light ahead of him. Finally, in a moment of sheer athleticism, he leaped through the entry-way, slamming the door behind him after setting the boy down gently. A large lock quickly bolted the door into place, and he sighed heavily in relief, knowing full well it was over. _For now. _

Constant and steady banging and moans could be heard behind the door, but it was at least four inches thick, and it would hold for a long while, at least until they could escape. After finally catching his breath, the boy looked up, and came to the conclusion they had made their way to the roof. The boy sat towards the edge of the platform, peering down at the undead below who were, surprisingly, unaware of his presence. A shadow cast over the light in front of him, and when he turned, he noticed his father, smilingly kindly behind him, despite the undead on the other side of the door.

"Did you hear that, dad?" perking his ears, the man listened intently. Distant gunshots could be heard, along with what sounded to be an occasional explosion.

"Yeah, I-I do..." he peered off into the distance, wondering where the convoy earlier had been headed. It had appeared to be military, several hummers with machine guns atop them for protection, and he attempted to remember more, but the sound of a distant engine distracted him. "Is that, the convoy, you think? It sounded like an engine?" the boy shrugged, not affected much by his father's words. He then peered back down at the ghouls below.

"Dad, why do you think they don't hurt each other?" the question was innocent.

"What? You mean the zombies?" he followed his son's gaze, looking down upon the undead in the street below, all shambling around indistinctly, moaning and such.

"Yeah, I mean, why don't they attack each other? I mean, they attack us and all?" the man had never looked at it this way, and was intrigued at his son's observation.

"Well, Michael. I don't really know. Maybe they just know the difference. They work together sometimes, and maybe they can distinguish,"

"How?" he was puzzled, the undead cries and moans behind him not helping the situation much.

"Well...I-I'm not sure," he chuckled slightly, then looked back at his son, smiling for a reason he couldn't explain, especially in a dire situation like this.

"They all have a story. They were all someone at one time, and when you look at it that way, it makes it hard to have to kill them. Each one of them was a person, just like you and me, every one of them with their own story to tell," the boy was taking it all in stride, but the father was baffled at his intelligence. "Do you think any of them were like us?" absolutely dumbfounded, he had no response.

"Uh, I'm, um..." before he could stumble over himself to form a response, the son stifled him, pointing high in the sky.

"Dad, look!-What are those?" faster than he could process, two streaks of silver flashed across the sky, something seemingly falling in their trail.

"I think they were jets son, I-"

The bombs touched the ground, instantly igniting everything the two could comprehend in a catastrophic explosion. All of the buildings, or what remained of them anyway, were instantly downed in the fiery blast, and the ghouls had no time to respond either, instantly incinerated by the thermobaric weapon. Everything in the world seemed to be burning, and anything not caught in the initial blast was on fire in seconds, the oxygen everywhere seeming to literally catch on fire. Time seemed to slow as the flames drew nearer, and the end was imminent. A sickening gasp was expelled from the boy as fire and smoke penetrated his lungs, asphyxiating him in mere seconds. The man was far less fortunate, his skin now combusting as he frantically attempted to stop the blaze; It was futile, as every time he would pull off a layer, the one beneath it would catch, and in less than a minute, he succumbed to the injuries sustained. In a matter of minutes, it was all over, now leaving a barren and ashen wasteland where the city had once stood.


	18. Descending To Darkness

The ground trembled violently for several seconds, dust tossed around indistinctly in the pitch black catacombs. The very fabric of existence was shaking around them as they cowered in fear, but after a few minutes, it subsided, leaving everything as still as before.

"What the fuck was that?!" Jet's voice was prominent, and Mordecai gulped harshly.

"I bet that was the bomb Ari talked about..." the survivors' mouths gaped.

"A bomb!?" Rae gasped shrilly.

"No, Bruce!" Benson turned towards the tunnel entrance, but was stifled by Bruce.

"If Mordecai is right, then nothing is left up there...I-I'm sorry," Jet held back the tears, the realization that his community had ended finally setting in.

"Kane..." Pops' voice was indistinct over the silent chatter, and the wounded Skips trudged through the crowd to him.

"Are you alright, Pops?" the muscular yeti was heavily damaged, fur charred and one eye swollen shut from the back blast. Pops look up.

"Oh, yes, quite alright, thank you. I'm just coming to terms with all this," his tone was somber as he peered off into the abyss ahead of them. "I've come to the conclusion that nothing will ever last in this world. _Nothing..."_

"Well, Pops, I'm sorry for your loss. I know you only knew him for a few weeks, but he was your friend, and I'm able to respect that," he shot the old man a concerned look. "I know you'll be able to cope with it, especially if I'm able to," Pops was confused.

"Excuse me?" he turned to the yeti.

"Pops, I've been alive for more than five-hundred years, and I know better than anyone that nothing can ever last. I try my best not to get involved with people, because in the end, it'll just come back to hurt me, but you are my friend. Someday, far off, hopefully, you'll die too, and I must accept that and keep on," a gentle draft swept through his bloody fur as he spoke. "Do you know why I skip?" Pops shook his head, indicating he had no idea.

Mordecai stood against the wall, feeling guilty for a reason he could not explain. Then, something slithered its way into his thoughts.

[xxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxXxXxXxXxXxXx]

"C'mon, dude, let's go to the coffee shop! Benson isn't around, let's go!" the raccoon had already found himself in the golf-cart before the bird could even reply. As he followed, Mordecai sighed deeply.

"You know if we keep this up, we're gonna get fired!" his words carried no consequence as a frilled wing smashed the key into the ignition and turned.

"Nah, man. Benson's all bark and no bite. Let's just get a coffee," the day was cool, winter finally being over, and Mordecai was afraid to go back to the coffee shop after his latest embarrassment with his love interest. Doing a donut and sending a puddle of water careening towards the house, the duo sped off towards the city, one eager for coffee and the other mortified. As they pulled up, Rigby exited, dashing inside as fast as his paws could propel him, while Mordecai hung back. _What are you gonna do? What are you gonna say? "I'm sorry?" No, just man up. Ask her this time, just do it! _After several seconds of internal bickering, he felt a few cool rain drops splatter on his beak, prompting him to head inside. Finally, he noticed his best friend on the far end of the room, a small mole handing him his coffee. _Thank god. It's __Eileen's shift..._

Sitting down beside him, Mordecai looked at Rigby with a smirk. However, Rigby did not return the expression.

"Remember anything?" finally, the raccoon's face lit up, Mordecai boiling. A swift fist found its way into Rigby's side as he fell to the floor in agony.

"Shut up," the blue-jay looked at his ingrate of a friend, very scorned. Dusting himself off, the raccoon smirked and chuckled malevolently, finding his place beside his angered friend once more. "At least it's Eileen's shift today," Rigby laughed.

"Well, you _could _say that," Mordecai turned, noticing the goddess in front of him, pale apron covering her perfect physique. He hadn't noticed he was staring, but a swift elbow from the raccoon snapped him back into his fateful and pathetic reality.

"Oh, hey Margaret, hehe," he chuckled lightly, but no blush was concealed by her blank face; Only more blank.

"Hey, what can I get you?" the voice was monotonous, and Mordecai's heart sunk.

"Just, the usual, I guess..." he looked to the floor.

"Alright. Be right back," she turned, not bothering to write anything down. Before Mordecai could muster any tears, Rigby pulled him up, looking him in the eyes as he spoke.

"Dude, grow a pair and ask her, or I will for you. I'm sick of you whining when you don't even have the courage to ask. You're my best bro, but really, man. Just do it," the monologue was followed by a swift paw to Mordecai's face, but it was weak. He felt like lashing back, but didn't and turned back to face the approaching waitress.

"Here's your coffee," the drink rolled around in the case as she plopped it down half-heartedly. Before she could walk away, the blue-jay stopped her in her tracks.

"Listen, Margaret, I have something to tell you, and I've wanted to for a very long time;" her eyes brightened, finally showing emotion. "I like you, and I have for a while now, and whether you like me back or not, I want to ask you something," she gazed up at him silently, expecting the question.

"...Will you go out on a date with me?" _Finally, you did it. Psh, took you long enough, dickbag. _She seemed ecstatic as she looked at him, not attempting to hide the red in her cheeks at all.

"Yes!" she almost screamed. He looked down at her with wide eyes, but a dainty hand found its way over her mouth. "Oops, I mean," she put emphasis on the last word, making it much quieter. "Yes..."

"Great!" he was on top of the world at this point. "I'll pick you up at eight!" she winked at him and walked away, now with much more emotion. The bird turned triumphantly to his best friend, staring condescendingly. "You might be a dick sometimes, dude," the raccoon's eyes narrowed. "But you're still my best friend," in a bro-fist of epic proportions, the two bonded in the warm embrace of friendship.

[xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxxXxX xXxXxXxXxXxXx]

"Well, guys," the voice seemed to pull him from his flashback, beckoning him to return to the terrible reality awaiting him. "These rogues will be upon us, soon, so I think we should get out of here while the going's good. The tunnels lead to manhole covers around the city, but I'm not sure where exactly they're located, so we'll just have to search," Jet's voice asserted command over the rest, even Benson, who now felt like only a follower.

"And what will we do when we do reach the surface, Jet?" Rae spoke up, voice raspy from crying too much. "Will we just run, try and escape the Shadows? They have jets!" her point was a good one. "They'll track us down and kill us! If we can't run, then what will we do?" Jet's voice was ominous as he spoke.

"If we can't run," his eyes narrowed. "Then we shall _fight,"_


	19. The City Of Ruins

**I'm happy to say that the new O.C. Is here now, and the contest is closed. I've added my own little twists to his character, but the underlying theme remains. As always, please review and favorite! My regards,**

**-Blake**

After three fruitless hours scouring every corner of the catacombs and a whopping total of zero encounters with the undead, Benson finally stumbled across a ladder towards the surface.

"Guys, I think I found the manhole!" the automation's voice echoed down the hallway as his friends sprinted towards him, eager to escape. As he trudged his way up the ladder, he stopped at the top, struggling to lift the cover above him. Suddenly, he felt a warm hand touch his shoulder.

"Better let me get it," Skips reassured him, lifting the cover with ease. As both of them stepped out, a wasteland lay before them in all directions, ash cluttering every inch of the ground.

"What do you see?" a masculine voice called from below.

"Nothing, really. A war-torn landscape is all," he chuckled quietly before helping the others out of the ground. The light was almost blinding to them, even though it was dusk, as they had all grown accustom to the dim conditions underground. In a sensual overload, Rae nearly collapsed, but Mordecai gripped her tightly.

"Oh, um...thanks," she chuckled slightly and they stared sheepishly at one another. Before the moment could progress, Amber spoke up.

"See those trails in the sky?" everyone looked up, noting two distinct trails of smoke in the air.

"They dropped the bomb more than two hours ago, and those trails would've faded by now. They must have just come through here," everyone was baffled at her conclusion.

"That's very intelligent," Skips noted aloud. She shrugged.

"My dad was in the air force and I learned a thing or two," she chuckled slightly.

"Alright, we'll follow the smoke and that should lead us back to their base. Assuming we have no encounters with the undead, we should be-" Jet was cut off.

"Totally effing screwed?" they all looked on at Mordecai, now freely speaking. "Let's be honest, this isn't your most intelligent idea, Jet. Those men are professionals, trained to kill people like you and me. What makes you think we even have a remote chance of defeating them?" everyone seemed saddened by the reality of his words, except for Jet, who was still optimistic.

"Sure, the odds are against us, and unfortunately, you're probably correct. We will probably die," everyone gasped. "But these bastards took all we had left. What else do we have to live for?" seemingly in agreement, they all began to nod, save for Mordecai, who still wasn't buying into it. "These men, these soldiers, they took all that was left, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let them get away with it!" after swallowing his pride, Mordecai finally nodded in agreement. "Alright, now we-" two streaks of lightning fast silver passed overhead, leaving a sonic boom in their wake. Everyone left alive hit the ground, terrified.

"SHIT! They're coming back! We're all dead!" Mordecai was scared for his life, but Benson snapped him out of it.

"Mordecai, calm down or you're fi-," Mordecai was stunned. "Sorry, old habits die hard," the joke was completely dry as the raptors whizzed by once more, this time sending machine gun fire their way. Bullets razed all sides of them, tossing dirt into the air, and Skips was the first to notice the distant figure sprinting at them.

"God, no! Someone kill that zombie!" the feminine voice was indistinct, but as the silhouette continued to sprint forward, it was revealed not to be a zombie at all; A tall, young man, only a few inches shy of the giant Bruce, sprinted at them at speeds seemingly only matched by the fighters overhead. Cradling a glinting object in his arms, he stopped in the midst of them, the survivors still in awe of the man. As he raised the device to his shoulder, it was revealed to be a rocket launcher of some sort, and upon the next pass, he raised it.

"Mind the back blast," the unknown survivor chuckled, much to Skips' dismay as the rocket propelled towards the gleaming fighters. Several red flares popped out the side of one of them, causing the rocket to detonate in mid-air. However, the jets would not return to such a threat. As they gradually became more distant, Jet was the first to speak, tackling the newcomer to the ground and shoving a handgun in his face.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing?" his voice was in false fury, actually relieved, but he had to be vigilant to weed out the bad in malevolent additions.

"Saving your sorry asses. You'd of been dead in minutes if it weren't for me!" he sneered, pushing Jet off easily and dusting himself off. "The Shadows aren't as weak as you believe them to be, you know. I used to be one," Jet's eyes enlarged, aiming the pistol once more.

"This probably isn't the best place for you then," his eyes narrowed.

"_Used _is the key word there, dumbass. I hate the bastards as much as you," he noticed the handgun falling now, finding its way back into its holster. It was then that the group began sizing the newcomer up.

He donned thick, dirty hair and a beard to match. Scars running up his arms and legs, his left eye seemed to be missing, replaced by a jagged wound that had long healed over. A thin white tee covered his musular body, and large combat boots and cargo pants made up his lower half. He was young, only about twenty, but it was apparent the apocalypse hardened him.

"My name is Nic, or as they called me before, "The Killer." Mordecai scoffed.

"How original! Hehe," he nearly chortled at how pathetic the name was, but after an intense glare from the survivor, he realized it to be true.

"I joined The Shadows when I was eighteen, fresh out of highschool. The apocalypse caught everyone off guard, and I mean _everyone! _My mother died in the shower, and my father mowing the lawn. I had to slaughter them both with a kitchen knife when they turned, and believe me, that will change a man," the others stared at him intently. "I was young, and I had always secretly dreamed of the apocalypse, the chance to live a real zombie movie, but when it happened, I realized how ignorant I was. One thing's for sure, though, using a chainsaw to kill zombies isn't as effective as you'd think it to be. After cutting fourteen of them to bits, I had to use the damn thing as a club and beat six more to a pulp before being overrun. I hid in the house and was basically waiting to die, but that's where Fletcher came into the equation; I heard gunshots outside my closet and came out, seeing a man in military dress with bloody rifle in one hand and a spare in the other. He was only a bit older than me, probably nineteen at the time, and we were the same; Two kids scared shitless in the middle of the apocalypse. He handed me the gun and we fought our way out, and that's when I 'officially' joined up," Jet looked as though he wanted to respond, but he couldn't. "They brought me back, gave me a rank and gear, and I went on several covert missions for 'em. Their biggest dream, and that's all it was, I assure you, _a dream, _was Operation Utopia. Some of the guys had high hopes, thinking they could establish humanity over again underground, safe from the zombies and whatnot. At first, it was a good organization, I assure you, but then they found Cowell about one year in. Everyone they had gathered up to this point was a survivor, but not Cowell; Cowell was a special breed of human, batshit insane, I promise. I warned Fletcher from day one, but everyone thought him to be normal. That is, until people started disappearing in the night; That bastard had been trying to search for a cure using our people as test subjects, and a few of his radical followers were helping keep it all a conspiracy. The only ones left alive were given a choice; Join or die. Despite my best efforts, Fletcher joined, but he helped me escape, unbeknownst to Cowell, and now, The Shadows are being controlled by a, for lack of a better word, mad scientist," everyone was dumbfounded at his story.

"You mean, you escaped?" Skips was puzzled.

"Yeah, I got away, but not without a few bumps in the road," ushering to his left eye, he smirked. "I've got to get in there, get Fletcher out. Can you help me?"

"Uh, Fletcher's-" Mordecai was stifled by Jet's words.

"Sure, we can help you. You have the knowledge and we have the support. We will join your fight!" he passed a glance to Mordecai, signaling he shouldn't mention Fletcher whatsoever.

"Alright, thanks!" the young man, though hardened, was ecstatic, then proceeded to walk in the directions the jets fled to.

"Um, we're leaving right now?" Rae questioned. The man turned.

"Why, is now a bad time?" he was curious. She turned back to the destroyed city behind her, then looked back.

"No, it's fine, I guess," Nic shrugged, then proceeded on, the new additions to his party eager to have vengeance.


	20. The Stronghold

**Everyone, I would probably consider this the...halfway point for the story, if not, maybe a little further. I thank you all for the support, and hope you shall continue; Reviews, follows, or favorites, doesn't matter to me! :D Just keep reading and enjoying! Like I said, if you have any questions or want to leave me feedback, please do! **

**-Blake**

Off in the distance stood a concrete base, presumably leading to an underground stronghold. Two goons stood atop the small entrance, each one with body armor and an assault rifle. A nearly impenetrable door with an electrical lock enclosed the only entryway, and solid concrete ensured the rest would hold up well to attacks. The compound was near the heart of a town several miles over, and the group was weary after traveling through the night. Fenced areas surrounded the bunker-like area, and Nic was the first of the survivors to speak.

"Alright guys, this is it. We'll need to take the two men out in front and use one of their keys to open the door," everyone listened intently to the ex-Shadow.

"Can't you just use yours?" Mordecai questioned.

"I could, if you want the whole damn base coming down on us! Every Shadow has an individual key card with access to different areas according to rank. If they see my card appear on the radar, shit is gonna go down," he felt superior over the others with his vast array of intelligence on the enemy, and then spoke again. "We have no silenced weapons-at all, so we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way," as he spoke, Jet noticed a dagger slide from his belt. "I'm gonna need one of you to help me," before anyone else had time to volunteer, Skips raised an arm. Nic nodded. "Alright, we're gonna sneak around and slot 'em. Think you can handle that?" he tossed a blade to him.

"He, I've seen more action than you'd think," Skips chuckled before following him off onto another street to sneak up on the two. It seemed like hours, and Benson was growing restless.

"Where do you think they-" as if on cue, both of the guards dropped, dead before they hit the ground, and two figures atop the structure beckoned them to come forward. At the doorway, they halted, and Nic carefully slid one of the men's cards into the slot, activating a green light and opening the door with a release of pressurized air. All of them crept in carefully, slinking around the dark corner ahead, but Nic stopped them only a few yards in.

"Hold on, I'll be right back," the assassin leaped forward, nearly sprinting, but was totally invisible in the darkness. An audible grunt was heard by the group.

"Huh?-" the hallway ahead of them lit up with bright yellow as the deafening sound roared through. The grunt hit the floor dead, but not before firing his entire clip into the wall beside him.

"That got their attention," Nic slid the now-bloody dagger back into its sheath, pulling a strange wire from his belt now. The entire group was confused as to its purpose as he rigged it around the doorway, but only a few seconds after doing so, he pushed them in a line back into the light of day. "Get back! This is gonna be dangerous! Get back!" all of them filing out and taking cover, Nic found himself being the only one left in the desolate hallway, detonator in hand. Footsteps were steadily increasing in volume as they Shadows approached him, and at the first sign of life through the doorway, he clicked the button on the device. The leader of the line found himself flying through the air in no time flat, splattering gore all over the men behind him. Flames pushed their way through the rest of the hall as Nic struggled to escape a fiery demise. Finally, he burst into the light of day along with the others, billowing, black smoke following directly behind him. After the dust had settled, Mordecai chuckled, raising his rifle.

"You sure know how to make an entrance, hehe," the gun clicked, signaling it was ready for a stand.

"Yes, indeed," Pops followed the statement, picking up his shotgun and loading in a slug.

"Yeah," Nic was hoarse as he replied. "But believe me, it's far from over. Come on," he burst into the entrance just as fast as he'd escaped earlier, Jet and the others right behind him. Soon, they found themselves at the top of a long stairwell with several black ops soldiers approaching from below. Nic only laughed, dropping another device down the slope. "Hehehe, this won't fare well for them," the voice was malevolent and sadistic as the explosion echoed from below, sending bits and pieces of shrapnel into each one of the Shadows, killing them instantly. Benson's mind was racing.

_Jesus. What all is this guy packing? I'm glad he's a friend..._ They continued down the stairwell before finally reaching a large entryway at the bottom, at least ten inches thick of solid steel. Sizing it up, Nic turned to the others.

"This is the main entrance to the civilian wing, but I'm really not sure if they even have civilians anymore. Besides, your beef is with Cowell. The only way to reach him is through here, though, so we'll have to wait for them to come to us,"

"Why can't you just use your rocket launcher?" Mordecai questioned.

"That's eleven inches of solid metal. We'd be dead from the soldiers far before we even made a dent in it," he thrust himself upon a nearby wall as if in waiting, and the others followed suit. Sure enough, in about a minute, the door slid open, allowing for another brigade to pass through. None of them noticed the survivors against the wall and they passed without event, Nic now leading his party through the narrow passage. As they stepped in, what they saw was unbelievable;

An entire underground community, complete with vehicles, markets, and shops all lining the area, just as Nic had said, lay before them. Several streetlights illuminated the sub-terrainian dwellings, and somehow, they even managed to get grass underground. _GRASS! _However, none of this seemed to faze Nic in the least who attempted, albeit in a futile manner, to get the awestruck group moving.

"They have houses down here, and churches!" Rae was ecstatic.

"They even have a school!" Pops was excited as well.

"Don't forget that everyone here was brutally murdered," everyone turned to 'The Killer,' who was already halfway across the area. "Cowell's lab is this way, but we're going to run into some heavy resistance in there. _We have to find Fletcher, get him out of here..."_ Mordecai wanted to speak, but found himself running to keep up with the rest of them and never got the chance. Entering another dark corridor, they noticed a dim light at the end of the hall. "Cowell's elevator. I'm surprised he doesn't take more care of his wing," he noted the shattered glass on the floor and blood coating the walls. As they approached the elevator, Nic pressed the button, causing both of the doors to open and reveal a large cord that was supposed to be holding up the elevator.

"What the fu-" Benson was cut off.

"Something isn't right here, guys," Nic gripped a pair of rough gloves tightly, then jumped into the shaft, gripping the rope tightly and propelling himself down. "You coming?" as he slid down, Benson, Skips, and Pops followed suit, leaving only Rae and Mordecai.

"After you, hehe," he smiled awkwardly. She did not return the gesture, only an expression of fear.

"I'm...I'm scared Mordecai," he attempted to comfort her.

"I know, I am too, but Nic is here, and he'll protect us. I promise," he smiled warmly.

"I know, it's just been so hard since my mom, how she-...and Cooper. It's hard..." she looked to the floor for comfort, finding none as tears trickled down.

"I know the feeling, believe me. I lost my best friend, and someone else I really loved, too. I know it's hard, but you're strong, I know you can handle i-" Mordecai was caught completely off guard when she tossed herself into him, planting a kiss. For a moment, he attempted to fight it, but found himself with both arms around her and a warm embrace in seconds. It was then that the memories began flooding back.

[XxXxXxXxXxXxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX xXxXx]

"Only a couple more minutes till my date! Wish me luck dude," Mordecai opened the door to the cool night air, now donning new clothes and cologne.

"Good luck," the call from the raccoon was nearly inaudible, as he was upstairs playing video games. Closing the door behind him, Mordecai made his way into the cart, still very nervous about the night ahead of him. As he sped off, he didn't notice his best friend peering at him through the window smiling.

The large wooden door echoed as he knocked on her door nervously. A few intense seconds passed without event before finally, she opened the door. Wearing a stunning outfit consisting of a new top and skinny jeans, Mordecai was baffled.

"You look-amazing!" it was hard to contain himself as she blushed.

"Thanks, hehe, you too," the robin smiled. As they walked down the stairs from her apartment, he noticed something he hadn't before.

"God, I didn't even realize, I brought the cart, I'm so sorry, I-" without another word, she flashed her keys to him, tossing them as he smiled. "Thanks," he was sheepish as he opened the car door for her.

"For the lady," he winked.

"Ooh, such a gentlemen," she replied playfully. "So where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," he smiled again, hopping into the driver's side and starting the car.

"Oh, well that's good. You know, just before you came, I was watching a story about how another camper went missing. They seem to keep getting lost or attacked or something," she chuckled as they sped away.

"Maybe. That's like the third one this week, right?" he wasn't concerned in the least, despite the serious nature of the subject.

"I think. There was also a homicide where one guy was actually _eating another guy! _I mean, can you imagine that?" she wasn't serious either, laughing it off. "I can't imagine dying by being _eaten!" _they both laughed heartily. "So, where are you taking m-" a shrill cry was all that came from her lungs as the car wrecked into a man in the street. He had just walked right into the car, as if actually trying to die, and as Margaret's hysteria died down, they both stepped out of the totalled vehicle to view the corpse; Putrid and, seemingly, rotten flesh peeled off of the victim's face as he attempted to _bite them. _

"He's alive!" Mordecai cried to no one in particular. "Someone, please help!" he looked around in all directions, but not a car was in sight.

"Here, don't worry, sir, I'll help you," Margaret bent down, attempting to stifle the man's dull moans. "I think we hit him pretty hard. The skin on his face is gone! This is disgusting, we need to get him to-" crunch. Sallow, yellow teeth sunk into the dainty arm as she recoiled in disgust.

"Oh fuck!? What just happened!?" Mordecai gripped her tightly. "Oh god, are you alright?!" he was panicking as the wounded creature attempted to bite him, however he quickly stifled its movements with a swift blow to its head, killing it instantly.

"No, I don't think that was a man, either... it bit me, and-" the silent vibration of a cell phone caused both of them to stop, Mordecai flipping it open to read a cryptic message.

"From: Rigby

Dude! HFG is gone! Get home now!" Margaret was unable to read the text, as Mordecai stood up, but saw the look of horror on his face.

"What, what is it?" she was gripping tight to the steadily bleeding wound.

"We have to get back. _Now," _

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx XxXx]

Suddenly, she pulled away from the lip lock, embarrassed at herself for being so foolish.

"I, I'm sorry, Mordecai," Rae was now crying freely.

"Don't be," he turned her around towards himself, wiping away the tears on her cheeks. "You don't have to be sorry, believe me. That was great," she seemed even more upset.

"Cooper's body isn't even cold yet. I feel horrible...That, that was crazy," she tried to turn away, but his wings were too strong. He noticed her blond hair in the dim light, her glinting eyes, perfect complexion, and model physique to match.

"Maybe just what we _need _is crazy..." the two shared another passionate kiss, before finally, a distant call could be heard from below.

"Are you two coming or what?" the feminine voice called out. It was Amber. Rae chuckled slightly, then replied.

"Yeah, we're coming," she laughed lightly, then turned to Mordecai, smiling warmly. "Can you go first? I might need help down," she was much happier now, despite the dire situation.

"Sure," he chuckled, stepping forward. Grabbing onto the rope and getting to a ledge below, probably that of the next floor down, he called to her above him. The rest of the group, however, waited at the very bottom patiently.

"Grab on and slide down, here!" he tossed his pair of gloves to her, and she began her descension carefully.

"This is scary," she called to him, gripping tightly at the top.

"It's alright, just carefully slide down and-" an unknown voice called from above, startling the bird.

"There, at the end of the hall!" footsteps could be heard above, and Rae let loose a wail.

"Hold on!" he leaped onto the rope, unintentionally sending her into a wild spin above. The sound that came after was unmistakable; Gunfire. Everything seemed to go by so fast as he peered up, terrified of what was to come, but was instantly blinded by a fine, crimson mist. Then, her body fell onto his, causing him to lose his grip as she cascaded down the shaft, hitting the ground below, lifeless.

"Mordecai! Let go!" it was Benson.

"What?!" he went into panic mode as his vision distorted from her blood. If he had understood what was going on at that moment, he would be enraged at her death, but at this time, was only trying to stay alive.

"Let go of the rope! They're coming! Let go!" the call from the machine was redundant to Mordecai, as he felt his frilled wings slipping.

"Benson!" he called down, before finally losing his grip. As he fell to the floor below, everything around him was a blur. Then, he felt immense pain, followed only by blackness.


	21. The One-Way Ticket

**Hey there guys! I'm excited to be home from my trip to Tennessee and have an update hot off the presses for y'all. Unfortunately, we're nearing the end of this little story, (I know, I'm sad too) but I hope you will all follow me afterwords to see my next project come along. Hopefully this chapter shall quench your writing thirsts, and as always, read, review, and favorite! It's a little short, but action-packed as well...Oh, and one last thing; The day I left, I posted a story I wrote a long time ago called "Pennyworth: The Ballad of a Butler," and it has a surprising lack of traffic. If any of you like Batman, PLEASE REVIEW IT! Thanks, that will be all...**

**-Blake**

"Get him up, he's unconscious!" Nic roared over the continuous gunfire above, prompting Jet to pick up the injured bird. Pops and Amber followed him down the long corridor in front of them, leaving only Benson, Skips, and Nic to face the advancing soldiers. Pulling a strange object from the his pack, Skips quickly questioned Nic's actions.

"Is that a...claymore?" the device was planted firmly on the ground, and Nic looked up.

"Yeah, why?"

"Where the hell did you get all of these explosives?" Benson lightly joked, despite the impending Shadows.

"They made me a demolitionist, hehe. Biggest damn mistake they ever made," the two from the park cracked smiles. "Alright, let's get the fuck out of here before the get down the shaft. As they sprinted away, desperately attempting to catch up to their friends ahead of them,  
Skips noted several ropes hitting the floor where they had been standing. Finally, the blast hit, shaking the very earth around them as they hit the floor. The Shadows rappelling down had not considered the fact that their adversaries could be competent, and in a fiery explosion, they finally learned of their own ignorance. Once the fire had died down, Benson looked up, seeing that the others were only a few feet away.

"Is everyone alright?" Jet questioned, having dropped Mordecai to the floor.

"Yeah," Nic sputtered. "We're okay," They all looked back, noticing the blast had totally collapsed the ceiling behind them, blocking them off from the remaining soldiers.

"Well, that solves one problem, but creates another; How do we get out of here?" Skips inquired. Nic brushed himself off, picked up his rifle, and finally, peered over to him solemnly.

"I'm not sure whether I got to mention or not that this was a one-way trip,"

"What!?" Jet was upon him in an instant, tackling him to the ground in mere seconds and landing a single punch to his jaw. "How could you forget to mention this was fucking suicide?!" Another punch landed squarely on the assassin's jaw, finally alerting him that he had to fight back. With ease, the trained soldier pushed him away, but Jet was relentless. Seconds after being shoved off, Jet was to his feet again, charging in blind fury.

"Jet, stop!" Amber called to him, but it was to no avail. The others were only left to watch as the two dueled, despite Nic's pleas to stop.

"Jet, I don't want to hurt you. You're-" a headbutt caught him in the stomach, blood now flowing freely from his mouth. Jet was no longer angry; He was the harbinger of rage, the vessel of all fury, anger could not begin to describe it.

"How-COULD-YOU-DO IT!?" the others were sure that even the Shadows could hear the fighting behind the mountain of debris separating them. With every punch, Jet became more enraged, despite normally being a kind and caring man. He felt a hand reach his shoulder and he instantly lashed out, knocking his unknown assailant to the ground. Once he turned, he saw a feminine figure on the ground ten feet away, whimpering. In mere seconds, his rage turned to agony.

"-Oh...Oh god...I-" before another moment passed, he was unconscious on the ground, being pistol-whipped by the damaged Nic.

"I couldn't even..." his breathing was shallow and rapid. "Explain-fuck, he hits hard," holding regions of his face and torso, he ran towards the hurt woman on the ground; It was Amber.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause all of this. I know Jet didn't mean to hurt you," everyone else peered on at Jet's body, now having two survivors unconscious. "I'm so sorry...are you alright?" When she turned, they all noticed one of her eyes was swollen shut, blood trickling down from her nose.

"I-I think, I-" she collapsed to the floor in agony and pain from the blow.

"She's hurt, but she'll be alright. I think he broke her nose, that bast-" before he could finish, Skip's directed his anger at him.

"His rage was unforgivable, yes, but understandable. Why the hell did you bring us down here to die?" he had not noticed, but he stood a full five inches taller than Nic and loomed over him menacingly.

"I didn't bring you down here to die; I brought you down here to help me. Fletcher is still here and I need to get him out. I owe him that much...Also, you said you wanted revenge for your allies," Skips eyes narrowed as the bloodied man's finger was thrust towards the end of the hallway where a dimly lit doorway stood. "Go get it," after several intense seconds, Nic turned back to the three injured survivors that lay before him; A dazed and very brief lover, an adrenaline pumped rage vessel, and an innocent caught in the cross-fire. Benson finally turned away from him, still very scorned at his intent.

"C'mon guys. If this is the end, we're going out with a bang. Let's finish this," the trio from the park began down the hallway before finally being stopped by a familiar voice.

"You guys were gonna raise hell without me?" the bloodied and battered blue-jay peered up to them, smiling. They reciprocated the gesture, ushering for him to follow.

"Nice to see you're alive, my good man," Pops chuckled, loading his primary arm.

"It's good to be back. How long was I out?"

"Only a few minutes, but a lot has happened," Skips laughed dryly, peering on at his wounded allies and the former soldier tending to them.

"I see," Mordecai followed his gaze.

"Here," Benson tossed him the 1911 he had kept since the very beginning of the apocalypse. "Keep it. I have a rifle anyway, and I'm sure you'll be needing her,"

"_Her?_" Mordecai nearly laughed.

"Yeah, hehe," after the silent, but memorable moment that followed, they then found themselves facing the distant doorway once more. Skips gulped.

"Looks as though this could be it," the once-dim light was now blinding as they all looked towards the doorway, searching desperately for comfort but finding none. Finally, they began what seemed to be the longest approach of their lives before finally, another voice broke the silence.

"Hey guys," they all turned to Nic who loomed over Amber's body. "Good luck,"


	22. No Hope In Sight

** Hey guys! I just want to say this now, even if it might piss people off, but there will be a lot of death. No o.c. is safe from here, and maybe not the gang from the park, either. This story is about to come to a close with only a few chapters left. Cowell is finally introduced, and I have no idea how to describe voices...Imagine his voice being just like Bane from The Dark Knight Rises, (If you haven't seen it, youtube it) and it will be about ten dozens times better to read. That's basically who I modeled him after, and I almost quote-steal Bane in one part, sorry about that... Also, I hope you all stay to see my future projects, and I may take story suggestions if anyone wants to send me a pm. Also, I still need reviews for my Batman oneshot...Anyone? Please? Well, anyway...guess I'll start the chapter.**

**-Blake**

Stepping into the flooding light of the doorway, the group saw nothing of particular interest. Several chairs were strewn about and yellowed, bloodied pages were torn from several notebooks across the floor. A large desk stood in front of them with an important-looking book open on top of it, and the only other thing in the room was another door, this one made of forged steel with a digital keypad beside it.

"Damn, I bet the bastard's hiding in there," Mordecai gripped the handgun tightly. Without another moment passing, a sinister voice sounded over what appeared to be an intercom.

"Not quite," the voice sneered, raspy and mechanized. A burst of pressurized air flooded from behind them and they soon found the door closing behind them. Nic turned from the end of the hall.

"...no!" he released Jet in an instant, sprinting towards the doorway where his allies awaited. However, he was not fast enough, the door forever trapping him in the desolate hallway.

"Open the fucking door!" Benson roared, intimidated by the mysterious person.

"Hehe, as you wish," the door opposite them was open in mere seconds, allowing dozens of Shadows to flood into the tiny room and take control of the meager band of survivors. Behind them, a lean and intimidating old man followed, white lab coat trailing behind him.

"Put your weapons down now," one of the soldiers barked, prompting them to set their guns on the ground before them. Finally, the scientist spoke.

"I am Doctor Brutus Cowell, leader of this..._establishment," _The emphasis on the last word seemed to haunt them all. A bony hand extended forward as if to greet them, but Benson pushed it away in disgust.

"You expect me to shake your fucking hand? Ha! Not likely," he spat. It was now he noticed the doctor's features, which matched his grotesque personality; A long, nearly crooked nose ended in a point on his face, and directly below sat a bushy, white mustache. Two, small glasses covered his beady eyes, and a wispy smile opened to reveal crooked and yellow teeth.

"It isn't wise to be rude to your captors, _machine. _Next time you retort to my gestures, there shall be consequences,"

"Like what?" Pop's squeaky voice spoke up, and they all turned to face the cowering lollipop man. Turning to approach him, Cowell spoke.

"Would you like to find out?" he turned to the desk and opened of the many drawers, pulling what appeared to be a remote. Pushing a button, a hole in the ceiling emerged, a monitor dropping down and flickering to life. The picture was extremely crisp, and after only a few moments they realized it to be Nic and the others, trapped only a few feet away. The doctor clicked another button on the remote, causing several vents to open on the other side. Nic froze in fear and turned towards them, terrified.

"What are those?" Mordecai questioned.

"Those are vents, designed to allow a continuous flow of oxygen through to provide anyone inside air. However, they are also great at transporting other gases as well..." he trailed off, looking sinisterly at the screen. "So you recruited The Killer, eh? Always was a thorn in my side..." he chuckled, then turned to the hostages before him.

"What other kinds of gases?" Skips looked up at him, eyes narrowing.

"Any kind, really. However, these chambers are filled with a special type of gas, one of my own creation; Zeptonic Sulphide is the technical name for it, but I prefer the name "Plague." "Plague" is 100% fatal, and any contact, even in the slightest amounts, will kill you in minutes. You see, it is contracted through the lungs and then burns its way through, obliterating all of those precious organs inside of us all," he turned towards the gumball machine. "Someone like you, a _freak, _would survive. But you would suffer, I assure you," Benson snarled at the man. "One click of this button will send a cloud of Plague over your friends, so I'd suggest you be respectful," pocketing the device, he turned away, facing the desk he had found it in. "It was first tested on men collected from their homes at night, but the community soon found a shortage of workers. In a matter of weeks, distraught mothers began wondering what had happened to their children during the night, but not for long; Soon, they too began disappearing. By the time the Shadows had pinpointed me as the culprit, I was already too powerful for them to handle. I now continue my work in peace, that is, until we discovered y-" the doctor was stifled by an enraged Skips.

"Work?! You call this-WORK!?" the monstrous yeti was nearly upon him, but caught the butt of a rifle to his face before he could do anything.

"Stay down, or I'll make sure you never get up," the soldier kicked the broken beast back towards the group. Holding a bloody face, Skips whimpered slightly from the pain.

"Ah, yes, my work. I discovered only a few weeks into testing that there is no plausible 'cure' for this virus. Nothing can change the people affected back to normal, but even if something could change them, would you really want them back?" he turned to face the enemies before him, a thoughtful look plastered on his face. "You see these zombies, these _things; _Some of them lose arms, some of them legs. Most, if not all of them, are rotted beyond recognition. Even if I could rid their bodies of disease, which I cannot, do you really want them to live the remainder of their lives like that? Could _you _stand the sight of your loved ones looking like that?" the old man was now asking them seriously, the Shadows standing down beside him.

"Your 'research' was discovered by genociding an entire community full of men, women, and children. How the fuck do think that's justified?!" Mordecai peered up at the man malevolentally.

"I am not a monster, bird. I am your ally," suddenly, Mordecai felt two bony fingers gripping his cheeks. "I was attempting to find something that would eliminate the zombies and all traces of the virus, but all the chemical solutions I came up with had no effect on the zombies at all, killing only the human subjects. However, then I discovered one that worked; Zeptonic Sulphide caused the zombies to drop like flies at the first introduction to it. Unfortunately, it had the exact same effect on humans, and I've been attempting to isolate the toxin that causes it to be so deadly for weeks," the old man continually drew closer to the blue-jay as he spoke. "I am not a monster. I am the savior of humanity. I might be the reason you are alive today. I-" he instantly recoiled in disgust from the spit hitting his face.

"_Fuck you!_" Mordecai attempted to stand, but one of the soldiers was already upon him, beating him senseless with the butt of his gun. Wiping away the saliva from his face, Cowell nabbed the device from his pocket. Benson, Skips, and Pops were now left only to watch as one of their friends was beaten to a pulp and three others' lives were at stake.

"It seems you do not understand the meaning of the word _consequence,_" he cackled, running the button of the device through his fingers. "Consider me a dictionary,"

_**BOOM!**_

Every single person in the room was down in a second, orange flames engulfing everything around them. Out of the rolling smoke, Nic emerged from the destroyed entrance toting his rifle in one hand and what appeared to be a grenade in the other. With the flick of a wrist, the grenade was into their midst, and a loud, blinding flash put them all into sensual overload. All Benson could hear was ringing, all he could see was white, and all he could feel was heat. Once the feelings finally subsided, he noticed Nic standing alone, towering over them all. Every single soldier was dead, and only Cowell now remained. Before the doctor was able to stand, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs as Nic kicked him to the wall with ease. When he finally mustered the strength to look up, the crooked old man found the barrel of the rifle aimed directly at his head.

"Where the fuck is Fletcher?! You let him out of here and I let you live!" with the only strength that remained, Cowell lightly pushed the barrel away to face The Killer.

"You mean they haven't told you?" he chuckled raspily, finding it hard to breath. Another quick jab to his ribs stifled him as the questions kept coming.

"Told me what?!" the others, having barely retained consciousness, gazed on in horror.

"Your allies, your _friends, _killed Fletcher in cold blood. I can't not allow him to leave, for he is no longer here," Nic's eyes grew as he turned to face Benson and the others.

"Is...is that true?"

"Nic, we-"

_**BLAM!**_

__Blood rolled from the ex-Shadow's mouth as he hit the floor in agony. A gaping, fleshy hole lay in the middle of his abdomen, and blood began to pool around him. Clutching a handgun, Cowell wiped away the crimson blood from his glasses.

"That takes care of one problem, and now only four remain," he stood up carefully, loading three more bullets into his gun. "I only have three rounds left, so might I suggest you get in line?" he chortled as he stood, an insidious intent in mind. "Which one of you wants to see the effects of Zeptonic Sulphide first hand, huh?" a wicked smile plastered onto his face, he turned to Benson. "What about you? You will not die, but I promise you will suffer," stepping towards the door, he inputted a six digit code onto the keypad, prompting it to open and revealing the two figures on the ground; Jet and Amber. Then, he turned to the gumball machine. "Now, I shall torture your conscience. Which one shall you replace in the chamber?" He gulped hard, turning to his friends. Noticing Mordecai reaching for his 1911, he attempted to stall the doctor.

"This isn't right, I cannot choose," he glanced back to the bird who now had a hold of his pistol. Without even turning, Cowell landed a punch into Mordecai's throat, sending him back into Pops.

"Give me your gun. After you watch your friend suffer for a while, you shall kill him," Peering over the broken and tattered group, he felt omniscient. Unwillingly, Mordecai felt the handgun ripped from his wing. "After you kill your machine friend here," he turned to Mordecai, still sputtering from the blow. "Then, you may be allowed to die," gripping the automation tightly, Cowell lifted Benson from the ground, choking him as he did so. "You must choose now. The man, or the woman?" he peered off into the open chamber before him, both figures lying on the ground.

"I-The..." tears rolled as he spoke. "The woman,"

"Ah, very noble, indeed. However, you have spared her no pain. Now, she may take part in the rigorous testing of the Plague," he cackled, tossing Benson into the chamber.

"What!?" he attempted to dash forward, but the door closed before him, not allowing any form of escape. The constant beating he put into the steel accomplished nothing, and he was restricted only to watching as the gas poured from the walls before him.


	23. Awaiting Our Destiny

** Woo! ACTION! But seriously though, the next chapter will be the last... :( I know, I know, but I hope you all have enjoyed it this far, and I hope you might stick around for my future projects. Also, I still need reviews for Pennyworth: Ballad of A Butler, and I'm beginning to lose hope for it...For this chapter _and_ the next, I hope to see many reviews! I really hope no one has given up on the story, because I haven't received reviews from bakedcreeper or RegularShowLuvr in a few days, and Sabrynth and Pandemyx, if you're reading this, I expect reviews! Haha, just kidding, but I'd really appreciate it. Also, if there are any 'anoynomous' viewers out there, please leave me a review and tell me your thoughts on this story. I've had a blast writing it, and I hope you felt the same reading it. Next chapter is it, guys. It's been an honor writing for you, and as always, read, review, favorite, and stick around for more projects later on! My sincerest (notice the word I added? Pretty nice, eh?) regards,**

**-Blake**

"...huh? Wh-where am-" Jet stumbled around clumsily as the gas slowly formed into a toxic cloud in the air.

"JET! For the love of god, stay down!" Benson was hugging the floor, but was helpless in aiding his friend; It was too late. The tall man was already to his feet, asking more questions.

"Is Amber alr-" a large intake of the gas into his lungs sent him into a sputtering fit, fighting desperately for air.

**"JET, NO!" **Benson shrieked out, but he was now beyond help. Hitting the floor in sheer agony, all of the veins in his body seemed to be popping, all very prominent in his skin. His eyes began to lose their luster as the coughing rage continued, and a few seconds later, he began violently convulsing, hacking bits of gore up as he did so. Blood began staining the floor as the medic squirmed, ripping his tight tee down the middle. Sweat rolled off of him before finally, his chest was thrust upward in a final exhale. Once more, he hit the ground, this time, however, not making any noises; Benson knew it was over, and he also knew he was to suffer the same fate very soon.

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"For the love of god, stop! We've seen enough!" Amber pleaded at the insane doctor, but he would not budge.

"Oh, haven't you?" he chortled maliciously before nabbing yet another device. Clicking the monitor off before him, most of the group began silently sobbing. "You want to know the best part?" he chuckled once more, pointing the remote he had grabbed towards the door. Clicking a single button atop the device, mechanical whirring echoed from behind the door. Everyone looked up to see it seceding into the wall, revealing a thick glass wall behind it. Inside the chamber Benson layed, still holding his breath in a futile attempt not to suffer. However, this lasted but only a minute before finally, he found it no longer possible. In a silent exhale, the machine stood up before promptly falling to the ground again, clutching his eyes. It looked as though he was screaming, but no words were audible through the glass.

"Stop it!_**FUCKING STOP!**__" _Skips roared, but it was to no avail. They were all left to watch as the gumball machine writhed helplessly on the ground, gas penetrating his very being.

"He will not die, I assure you. He is but a machine. I shall leave the killing," he turned to Mordecai who looked up at him, distraught. "To you," he laughed to himself, before he heard a feminine voice behind him.

"You're a monster. You're a _**fucking monster,**_" Amber leered at him through gritted teeth, staring enraged with the one eye she could see out of.

"Careful," he turned his body towards hers, which seemed to drain her of all confidence she had had. "I am testing the effects of the toxin on your body later, but I don't have to stop there," his eyes narrowed as his face brightened up. "How about first, I confiscate your clothes, toss you in that chamber, and let a few of my officers join you, eh? They work hard, maybe they deserve a little reward," The rage could no longer be contained, and Skips burst up in a flash of white. Before the twisted doctor had time to react, the momentum of the yeti had him pinned against the wall in seconds. Reaching for his pistol, Cowell soon found his hand being crushed by the sheer power of his assailant. "No-I"

"I'm going to enjoy this," he licked his lips at this point, something he normally wouldn't be proud of.

"God, no, I-"

"Shut off the fucking Plague! _**NOW!**_" After gaining possession of his firearm, Skips picked him up off of the ground, tossing him into a nearby wall. A sickening crunch was audible as he slid to the floor, and now everyone was up, forming a semi-circle around his wounded body.

"O-okay," pulling the remote from his pocket, the doctor pressed a button, causing the vents to stop spraying the gas. However, they noticed Benson was still suffering.

"Get the rest of it out of there,"

"But-that would require de-oxydizing the chamber, which could-"

"_**DID I FUCKING STUTTER?!**_" everyone turned, surprised at the yeti's advanced anger. His posture conveyed the strong message that he wanted to harm this man, which was probably true. With a single click of the remote, all of the air in the chamber began receding back into the vents. In only a few moments, the gas was gone and Benson lay limp on the ground.

"It is done," he gazed off towards the floor, fearing for his pathetic life. "There may still be toxins left over in there, so I think that you should wait before-" a swift kick into his ribs silenced him.

"You get him," Mordecai's eyes were narrow. "Then, you are allowed to die,"

"No," Skips turned to the bird. "This won't be quick, and this won't be clean,"

"Hmph, never said it would be," they both grimaced as they peered at the man on the floor.

"I-I'm so sor-" it was Pops who delivered the blow, surprisingly.

"Save your fucking breath," Skips had him lifted up, tossing him towards the door to open it. "You're probably going to want as many as you can get here soon," they all laughed. Dropping him hard at the glass door, he pushed a few buttons on the pad and the door slid open, as it was expected to. After being violently pushed in, Cowell helped Benson to his feet and drug him back into the room with the others. Immediately after, he was shoved back into the chamber.

"No, please-" the doors slammed shut as he was pushed in, and Pops thumbed over the remote. The doctor was not audible, but they could see the expression of fear on his face. After gazing long and hard, Pops realized he was unable to do it.

"What are you waiting for man? Gas that bastard!" Mordecai turned impatiently.

"Yeah, Pops, do it!" Amber egged him on.

"I-I cannot. A man once told me to look at myself, to see what I had become. The apocalypse hardened me, and after all of that, I couldn't stand the sight of myself. I vowed never to change again, to keep the promise I gave to that man. That man was-"

"Me," they all turned quickly to Benson, who lay dazed on the ground. His glass dome had major cracks in it, and it looked as though he wouldn't survive for much longer. The only lusterous paint that remained on his body from the accident weeks ago was shredded off onto the ground in the chamber, leaving behind a shining, silver body. His flap was still missing, but nonetheless, he was alright, _for now. _"That man, was me-" he hacked for a few seconds, then turned back to his friends. After a few moments of struggling, Pops helped him to his feet. "I know what I said, Pops, but that was before-" Pops looked on in anticipation. "Before I understood. In this world, it's impossible to retain your humanity _and _survive. A lot of people figured that out the hard way, unfortunately. I hated who we had become, rough, gun-toting savages, but I realize now that this is now what we need, what we _require. _If I were human, I'd be dead right now, and that is thanks to that man there," a weak arm pointed to the caged doctor, pleading helplessly.

"But Benson, I-"

"No, Pops. Who you were, who we all were...those people are dead. The first time you killed to survive, that person inside you, _your conscience, _died. We are no longer civilized, we are no longer sane, _we are no __longer human. _Do it," Pops stared at him wide in awe. A few solemn moments later, he wiped at his nose with his dirty sleeve, then pressed the button. Gas began rolling from the walls, and all of the remaining survivors watched in satisfaction. Half-way through Cowell's death, the group witnessed a pleasant surprise.

_**BOOM!**_

__The wall of rubble behind the doctor was decimated, several dozen Shadows, probably the remainder in the base, burst into the room, met only by their dying commander and a fatal toxin.

"SHIT! It's the Plague, get-" the voice was inaudible to the survivors, but if they could have heard it, it only would've made the experience more pleasing. Every single one of them, at least two dozen, dropped to the ground, squirming. Several minutes passed until the last one stopped moving, and they finally realized that their fun was over.

"Turn it off," Skips sighed, facing the lollipop man. In a few moments, the gas stopped spewing and all of the oxygen began draining from chamber. Ten seconds passed, and the silent corridor was finally rid of the Plague. Even though he felt as though he was doing the righteous thing, Mordecai still felt guilty, thinking back to more pleasant times. Or at least, more pleasant than this...

[XxXxXxXxXxXXxXXxXxxXxXxXxxXx xXx]

The vehicle skidded to a halt in the driveway, leaving marks as it stopped.

"Are you alright!?" it seemed Mordecai was talking to no one, as she was fading fast. Picking her from her seat, Mordecai carried the robin into the large house in the park, literally kicking the door down to enter.

"Rigby?! Benson!? Anybody!? I need help!" he seemed as though he wasn't getting anyone's attention, despite screaming.

Suddenly, Rigby burst down the stairs, clutching a ballbat in his paws.

"Dude, Fives is gone!"

"What?! Like dead, or..." he sat Margaret on the floor, attempting to stop the bleeding.

"No, he just up and disappeared! I have no idea, neither does Muscle Man. Something's happening, bro...all the channels on t.v. are down!" he turned to his friend's injured date. "Whoa! Is she okay?"

"I don't know, we need to get her to a hospital!" Rigby attempted to speak, but gunfire outside cut him off.

"Oh no, bro!" a familiar voice called out, followed by a vicious string of gunshots. Soon, the duo found themselves pressed up against the window, peering out to see what had happened. The portly green man held his ground firmly on the steps, several unrecognizable creatures approaching him.

"Dude! I've seen those, one of them bit Margaret!" Mordecai turned to the raccoon fearfully. Another round echoed from outside, and Muscle Man found himself being backed up towards the doorway, several of the creatures falling at his feet. Before he could be overrun, however, the last one fell, and he instantly burst through the door to greet the others.

"What happened!?" they shrieked in unison.

"I was out in the woods looking for High Five Ghost, and those things attacked me! I went home to get my shotgun, but those things peeled the trailer like a damn can-opener! I'm lucky I got out with my life,"

_"...Hurngh...aAaaeeigh..." _strange moans caused each of them to turn, Margaret having now risen from the floor and staring vacantly at them.

"Oh thank god, Margaret, you're oka-" the blue-jay felt a blood-soaked hand shove him towards the wall as Muscle Man stepped forward, gun ready.

"No, Muscle Man, wai-"

_**BLAM!**_

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxXxxXxXXxXxx ]

The night was cold, late fall, and the bird's eyes were tightly shut, attempting to avoid the inevitable. Then, the gumball machine took his place on a small stump, just tall enough to appear prominent among them. Directly before him sat a crude, wooden casket, a furry and broken body laying still inside.

_"I remember a time not so long ago, the summer two years ago..." Several orange gleams of light peeked through the few trees left standing as the group held their funeral. The wind silently stirred around them, subtly giving a depressive tone to the look of things as __Benson spoke. "That summer-the last summer before it happened, was the summer I met Mordecai and Rigby," Everyone looked on past him, save for Skips, the only one strong enough to look into his eyes as he delivered his speech. "In all honesty, I never much cared for the two, always slacking and never doing what I said, but deep down, I grew to care for them. It hurts to see Rigby like this," the raccoon lay still in the casket, Mordecai having already disabled his brain so as to prevent reanimation and the sorrow of having to see him die twice. "I hoped a day like this would never come. A day where I had to bury an employee. No. A friend." the group stared on, tears now falling freely from Mordecai. Muscle Man and Benson appeared deeply troubled as well, only Skips left, staring solemnly as the speech continued. "I know its hard, but this is the world we live in now. It changes us, makes us different from who we once were. Rigby is no exception to that rule, the events of the apocalypse hardening him, but if what I heard last night is true, then he died a hero, protecting his closest friend from harm," he ushered to Mordecai. "So __let us remember him for who he was, a hero in his last moments. He sacrificed himself...I-I'm sorry," _

Looking on at his best friend in the coffin, he sighed deeply. Little did he know this would be only the beginning of all his troubles. Patting the corpse, his own words came flooding back to him.

_"I'll see you again one day, buddy. Beside the dying fire,"_

[XxXxxXXxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxx Xx]

_"Maybe crazy is just what we need," _The two kissed passionately in the hallway, Rae allowing her tongue to move freely about in his mouth. Finally, a distant call echoed from below, and he pulled away. He then noticed how perfect she was; Long, flowing blond hair, her perfect physique and body that he had unintentionally witnessed once, but craved more. He saw even deeper, her great personality, too, before finally...

"Are you guys coming or what?" the voice called from below.

"Just a minute, I-" everything around him seemed to fade. A warm smile was locked on her face as she slowly faded to nothing before him.

"No, Rae!" he leaped forward, grabbing at thin air, but now found himself in an environment that was nowhere. Everything around him was gone, now replaced by white, and he felt so alone. "Rae...Margaret...Rigby!" He lie alone, silently sobbing for several minutes. Soon, however, the sound of a distant engine broke the silence. Soon, it began to idle, and he noticed a thin figure in the abyssal blank distance. The clatter of heavy boots hitting the floor was very audible, despite the person being so far away, but in only a few seconds, the man was upon him. For some reason he couldn't quite understand, Mordecai recognized him instantly.

"Hehe, you don't even have to say it," the long, flowing hood fell behind him, revealing the skeletal face, donning a reflective pair of shades. _Has he read my mind? _"Yes, I have," Mordecai was stunned. "This is a world of my creation, Mordecai, and several of your friends have been here, too," He was terrified.

"Are you gonna-"

"Kill you? No. You've made it this far, and that's nothing to scoff at," his heavy accent was apparent. "Besides, I don't have to, hehe,"

"What do you mean?" Mordecai's eyes narrowed at the reaper.

"Let's just see how you fare tomorrow, hehe. I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," soon, his hood was covering his cranium again, and he began to walk away.

"What will happen tomorrow?" Mordecai was no longer afraid, only angry.

"Let's just call it, 'The End,' how about that?" he chortled, then began walking away once more. Without even turning, he spoke a final time. "And I thoroughly enjoyed watching Cowell squirm, thanks for that," Mordecai's fists clenched in rage at the insidious nature of the reaper's jokes. He was in total rage, but there was absolutely nothing he could do. Sitting silently, he watched the figure continue on the landscape forever, before finally, disappearing from sight. Color began to reign in the blank realm, and in only a few moments, he found himself returning to his demented reality, merely awaiting 'The End.'


	24. All That Remains

**Hey there again guys. It seems as though I (unintentionally, of course) lied to you, as there will be one more chapter after this. I'm sorry, I just couldn't contain this much action in one chapter, so I shall bring it to you in two parts. I thank you so much for the reviews and favorites, and hope you really love the ending I have planned for this little story. Once I'm done, I hope you shall continue to follow me onto bigger and better things, and as always, read, review, and stay beautiful!...**

"**The Best Time To Wear A Striped Sweater...Is All The Time!"**

**-Blake**

***Authors note: It took four hours to write this, and went into two days. When I wrote that intro, it was three A.M. Don't judge me for my three A.M. antics :/**

The light was blinding as they ascended from the darkness below, climbing each step as though it were hundreds of miles tall. Once they were sure the toxins were cleared, Skips smashed the door open with his bare hands and released them to escape. They grabbed several vials of Plague on their way out, but still felt as though they accomplished nothing. It turns out that Nic was wrong, and this hadn't been a one-way trip after all. However, it might as well have been;

Climbing from the long stairwell, each one of them, stumbled awkwardly into the light of day, a gaping hole inside of each of them as if something were amiss. None of them were happy in the least, each one now having lost all hope. Several undead stragglers made their way towards the broken, weary group, but they were no match at all. Being dispatched in only a few seconds, the survivors found themselves alone once more alone with their own, haunting thoughts;

Benson stood prominent in the front, glass dome close to shattering. No hope laid within his eyes anywhere, and it looked as though we was merely waiting to die at this point.

Skips was located directly to the right of him, fur stained with blood and filth, as it always was. Both eyes were bloodshot, and fingernail marks were visible on his wrists where he had first grabbed ahold of the doctor. He gazed off into the distance solemnly, not noticing the other stragglers steadily approaching in the distance.

Amber had just exited the doorway, nearly blinded by the sunlight, and she soon found herself on the ground, clutching her many apparent wounds. Her eye had swollen even more, but the cuts on here body were no longer profusely bleeding. She held the same look as the rest of the group, only more distraught, if that was even possible at this point.

On a nearby sidewalk, Pops had found a place to sit, pulling an object from his coatpocket. It was revealed to be a small yo-yo, and he half-heartedly twirled it around, very depressed as well.

Mordecai was the only one facing the distant sunset, eyes glinting in the surprisingly cold sunlight. No warmth was there to greet him, but he didn't seem to notice in the least. His gaze was vacant, and it seemed as though we were lying in wait, not of death, perhaps, but something far more sinister; The End.

Nothing of interest happened that night, no zombies, no other survivors, no rogue military groups, nothing. Just a normal night in the wilderness nearby, a thick and overgrown forest. This was just as Mordecai had envisioned his camping trip with Margaret had went once, but he couldn't quite remember. The crackling fire let off no heat, and all of them found themselves deteriorating even more into the spiraling depression. They were all in bed by eleven 'o clock, and no one volunteered to watch camp during the night. It isn't like it would've mattered to them, though, as all hope was drained. By the time Mordecai lay asleep in his small bed area he had constructed, he realized something; No one had spoken since Skips told Pops to turn the gas off. Not once did a single one of them speak to the others, and the thought was even more depressing to the blue-jay. Rolling over in the cold, wet leaves below him, he made a futile attempt to get a good night's sleep.

"_...-you again someday bud-eside the dying fi-Let's just call it, The End,"_ _Once again, his spiritual form found itself trapped in the white abyss,but this time, the reaper did not appear. Several hours, or so it __seemed, passed without event, leaving the already depressed bird to think alone, only leading to more depression. Everyone he ever loved was gone, his best friend, his crush, his brief girlfriend, his co-workers, everything. Crying and alone, he knew exactly what he was to do now. The moment he awoke, he was to end it. End it all, end all the sorrows that had befallen him. Escape from this world of hatred and pain, allow his __spirit to join a place free from all of it. It was at this point that he felt out of place in this realm, this dream world. Everything began to fade, and soon, he found himself where he had began._

Brushing aside a few leaves and rubbing away at his eyes, he looked up, tired. Peering around, all was quiet, no one else having yet awoken. The sun peeked meticulously over the horizon as if it were afraid to be present to the undead. The night had went by perfectly, no zombie interference, but it wasn't like he cared. He would've preferred to died in his sleep, so as not to have to consider it his own fault. Looking around at the bleak landscape before him, he then reached for the 1911 Benson had given him and looked it over. After a few moments, he realized it dishonorable and placed it behind where the sleeping machine lay. Thinking back, suddenly, the words flooded into his mind.

"_If you are cornered, no escape by either the Shadows or the undead, I wish you to have this bullet. I hope that you find no use for it, but if the time comes, you'll wish you had it,_" the thick Russian accent boomed in his head. Nearly sprinting, Mordecai found his way back to his makeshift shelter, digging his wings into his pack to search. However, it was the sound that followed that caused him to stop; Distant gunfire caught his ears once more, and he felt as though today truly would be the end. The two fighter jets they had witnessed earlier that week flew overhead, frantically searching for signs of life. Putting his pack away, he grabbed a rifle and noted the others, who had now awoken.

"What's going on?" Pops looked on sleepily. Tossing his shotgun to him, Mordecai spoke.

"It's the end, Pops. It's the end," turning to a small opening in the brush ahead of him, he sprinted forward, taking cover in the painful thorns, though his adrenaline rush allowed him to pay no mind to them. Once inside, he then noticed the sheer scale of the invasion upon them. At least two dozen hummers patrolled the streets near the edge of the forest, and it was then Mordecai noted that there were more than two fighters in the sky. Hundreds of troops ran around in the area, each one toting a rifle and a monstrous vendetta. None of them had decided to check the forest yet, but he instantly recognized them as Shadows.

"Oh god," despite just being ready to end it himself, the bird feared for his life.

"What?" Amber was up, although not in normal dress, still donning her ripped pajamas.

"We're dead, this really is the end!" Pops attempted to whisper, but the gunfire outside the forest concealed his voice enough to speak. Skips peered out of the clearing, then turned to them.

"They've got dozens of men in the streets, a _lot _is an understatement for the number of armored vehicles they have, and don't get me started on the fighters,"

"What are we gonna do?" Benson noticed his weapon beside him when he awoke and now had ahold of his 1911 once more. Skips looked on in what appeared to be mental agony.

"I..." he felt as though the words were alien whilst rolling off of his tongue. "I don't know," What sounded like a loud hiss began directly on the edge of the forest, and the remaining survivor's turned to notice a Shadow grunt, around twenty yards away, scorching the forest with an M2 flamethrower.

"Oh Jesus!" Benson couldn't hold it in.

"Do we fight?! Do we run!? What do we do!?" Mordecai was running around frantically. It was then Skips realized what was to be done.

The shatter of glass was unmistakable, and the entire group turned to see the yeti tossing the vials into the street. The hot blaze growing steadily closer ceased as the designated 'flame-thrower' succumbed to the Zeptonic Sulphide.

"Fuck! It's the plague! Put on your gas masks and-" the officer was dead in seconds, blood rolling from his open mouth.

"Run before the Plague spreads!" Skips was the first to speak, all of them darting in different directions, each one of them away, however. In a few moments, they found themselves outside of the forest and into the adjacent street, the gunfire drawing steadily closer. None of them had bothered to gather their things, save for Mordecai and his pack. Dashing down the street, Skips darted into an alley. They all followed, him being the line leader, and found themselves being pushed up a fire-escape to survive the Shadows behind them.

"...contact right! Hit her, hit her!" the sound was unmistakable, lead meeting flesh, and Amber dropped two rungs from the top, leg bleeding profusely.

"God, no! Grab my hand, grab my hand!" Benson turned back to help her, but it was too late. Another volley of rounds rang out, and her body fell into the alley below, lifeless.

"Fuck! She's dead, keep going!" they all turned back, continuing the run for their lives. At this point, they were hopping from building to building, a few soldiers now having climbed up the ladder behind them. Mordecai raised his rifle, dropping three without even trying. The fourth rung a shot off, but missed by a mile, Mordecai killing him instantly. When the blue-jay turned back, he noticed his friends were nowhere in sight, but something else was; In the distance, barely cresting on the horizon, was the park.

"...The...The Park?" he was confused, but a strong hand gripped him tightly from ahead before he could question anything else; Lucky for him, it was Skips.

"Keep moving! They'll catch up if you don't," he hadn't realized, but they were now scaling down one of the small buildings, and he hadn't noticed them before because they were all already half-way down.

"Is that the park?" he frantically asked, out of breath.

"It is, we're in Tyville," their feet touched the ground and Mordecai instantly recognized the name.

"Wait, we've been in Tyville this whole time? We weren't but two miles from the park this entire time!?" Skips seemed to be dragging him at this time, weaving in and out of streets before making his way onto a long highway.

"Yeah, you need to pick up the pace, though!"

"Alright!" he released the yeti's hand to sprint himself.

"Tyville had a military base? I didn't know that," the gunfire behind him caused him to speed up, bullets narrowly whizzing past his head. He could see Benson and Pops far ahead of him, headed to the park across the highway.

"This is not a time for small talk, keep fucking running!" Skips seemed incredibly harsh. Mordecai then realized the vials of plague he had stowed away for himself and stopped cold, opening his pack. Skips skidded to a halt. "_**What the fuck are you doing!?**_" he screeched. Pulling the small, glass container, Mordecai tossed it, causing the air behind them to be invaded with a thick cloud of toxins.

"Buying us time," before the yeti could supply him with a sufficient response, a grunt burst through the poisonous cloud, momentum not allowing him to stop.

"_**ErgGgHhHh!**_" his limp body slid across the pavement towards them, a trail of crimson blood leading up to his still writhing figure. For the first time in ages, Mordecai felt pity; Thesoldier wasn't a man at all, only a boy, probably no older than fifteen. His dull blue eyes seemed to plead to them, as if asking to die, and his filthy, blond hair was matting with blood. Within a few moments, it was over and the boy was dead, but Skips was already dragging Mordecai away at this point.

"Hurry up!" they were way ahead of Benson's call, already sprinting to catch up. Pops was very far ahead, however, already to the outskirts of their town. As they continued at break-neck speeds to reach their home, they felt a huge pressure fade as the Shadows no longer trailed directly behind them. Mordecai's plan was quick and effective, buying them enough time to get back to the park and then some. By the time they had passed the narrow, blood-coated streets, once-flickering coils of wire, and the steel-gated archway, they were dead.

Each one of them collapsed in unison from sprinting so far for so long, gasping desperately for a breath of air. A normal human body could only take so much, but this group was special for some reason, having sprinted for nearly three miles away from certain doom. However, celebration had to be halted, as the Shadows were not deterred by the gas for long.

"_...huff..._Shit!_...puff..._" his breathing panicked and erratic, Benson could barely breath. "They have gas masks! Get your asses up!" his statement was redundant, the others having fled towards the house before he could finish his sentence. Along the way, the gunfire drew nearer and closer to home, hitting all sides of them and throwing up plumes of dirt. The narrow path grew gradually wider, revealing the old house at the end, still somehow standing. They failed to notice the details however, such as the overturned golfcart in front that had seen many good, and bad, memories. Muscle Man's trailer lay torn apart right beside it, just as it had been left since the beginning of the events. Several memories began flooding Mordecai's mind, but he struggled to push them out. This was no time to ponder what had or could have been; This was the end.

Bullets peppering the windows and siding of the house and broken glass littering the floor, they paid no mind to it all, sprinting straight up the dilapidated stairs to find some sort of vantage point. Bursting into the computer room, they silently closed the door behind them, hoping that no one would pinpoint the location. It didn't matter much, as they would be flooding the house in only a few moments, searching every room and killing every living thing inside.

"Alright, guys, we're going to take a stand, right here, right now!" Benson popped another magazine into his pistol, carefully nearing the window.

"Dude, no! We'll die!" Mordecai was desperate in his words. Benson now stood directly in front of the window, readying to open it.

"We will anyway if we stay here. This was your home and my park, and I'll be damned if they take it away from us. I will never roll over. It's been an honor, gentlemen," an unfitting smile found its way to his face as he stared on reflectingly. Pops attempted to reply, but the sniper fire cut him off.

The sound of glass shattering was indistinguishable, and the survivors thought that it first it had missed its mark. However, the gumballs rolling around on the floor said otherwise, his limp figure already on the ground.

"_**BENSON!**_" Mordecai screeched, but soon found Skips' human-esque paw over his beak in attempt to stifle his volume. Before he was able to mourn any longer, he heard the distinct voices approaching.

"..._-Turner said he saw the sniper tag that bastard,"_

_ "He better have. Those pieces of shit are the reason Cowell's dead,"_

_ "Hell yeah, dude. I wouldn't shed a single tear if the plague got every one of 'em," _gradually, the voices became more distant, another door down the hall creaking open to allow them in. The hand over Mordecai's beak was released, allowing him to gaze over the corpse of his former boss. The gumballs had stopped rolling by this time and the glass shards from his dome had found a few places on the floor to rest, but his body remained intact from the sniper.

"Oh god, why did this have to happen. Why didn't he just stay down!?" the helpless bird was now broken down, overcome with emotions of every sort. Sadness for his countless losses, fear for his life, depression for the lack of hope, and angry at the bastards who were taking everything away. The gunfire and dull moans from the outside signaled the Shadows were having no trouble at all with the undead ranks, much to the groups dismay. Pops finally spoke.

"Skips, what shall we do?" the yeti's gaze was distant and totally vacant, fixated on something else entirely. "Are you alright, Skips?" the beast began violently tearing at his head, while still keeping his voice hushed.

"_The...fucking voices...they,"_ his attempts to stay quiet failed, as the voices returned.

_"...It was over there, that doorway right there!"_

_ "Get ready!"_

_ "The voices...the demons..."_ the yeti was standing up, gripping his temples tightly.

"Skips, for the love of god, stay away from the windows!" Mordecai's shout went into one ear and out the other. Soon, the doorknob was rattling, and the voices returned.

_"It's locked,"_

_ "Well, dumbass? Shoot it!"_

"Shit, this is the end! This is the end!" Mordecai's hands were cupped, praying to any god that would hear his desperate pleas.

"No," Skips' voice was unearthly and scratchy as he turned, totally fixated on the blue-jay. "Not even close,"

"_Shit, what the fuck is that thing!?_" the voice of the soldier was more terrified than anyone on the inside of the doorway, and the gunfire proved they had run into some form of resistance. A few moments later, the sounds ceased, now only the dull breathing of a creature on the other side. Blood began seeping under the door, alerting them that something much more sinister lie in wait for them. Gunfire on the outside grew rapidly, but soon ceased as well. The jets flying overhead laid down a string of precision air strikes, but it was to no avail either. Whatever the creatures outside were didn't seem to be zombies, not zombies at all, something far stronger.

"What the hell is out there!?" Pops roared. Suddenly, a mechanical hissing caught their ears. Peering out the window, they each caught a tiny glimpse of a jet careening towards the earth on the horizon. Suddenly, the atmosphere around them darkened, the sun being eclipsed by the dull moon. A cool wind blew through the dark night, and a single cloud began engulfing the entire sky in every direction. Rain pelted them all with lightning striking in the distance, and Mordecai noticed the only remaining hummers retreating, leaving wounded and others behind. The zombies had seemed to focus all their attention on the house, flooding the the front door by the dozen, but the mysterious creatures they had heard made no appearance. Suddenly, in the middle of the pathway where the hummers retreated to, a gaping vortex seemed to open in mid-air, creating a black-hole like effect. The trucks were instantly swooped in, and everything seemed to lightly gravitate towards it. The sky pitch black, the rain falling in torrents, the mysterious creatures prowling, and the unimaginable vortex humming, Mordecai could contain his question no longer.

"What the fuck is happening!?"

"This," Skips surveyed him pensively, seemingly no longer entranced by the subconscious demons plaguing him. "This is the end,"


	25. The End

**Here it is guys, the last chapter, the singular finish, 'The End!' Hope you all enjoy it, and I continue to thank you for the support!**

The trio watched in awe as what appeared to be hell's cavalry escaping the portal. Several beasts flooded through the gate, finishing the only remaining Shadows in seconds. It was then they noted their grotesque features.

Long, reptilian tails drug behind them, leading up to a scarred, leathery body. Two glowing eyes shone on their face, strikingly resembling a lizard of some sort. A red flicking tongue tasted the air every so often, as well. They were bipedal, but assumed all fours when sprinting, as shown by hunting the Shadows. Gunfire outside the window was constant, but every bullet seemed to merely bounce off of their thick husks. Within only a few moments, the Shadows were all but obliterated, and the beasts continually poured from the vortex. Before any of them could speak, the thunderous roar of a motorcycle deafened them all. Pulling through the portal with ease, the vehicle idled nearby with the slender figure sitting atop it gracefully, riding his steel horse. The moment his boots touched the earth, the ground trembled, each step taken only worsening it. Finally, he removed his hood.

"This is it, boys! Hehehe," the reaper sneered towards the house, obviously knowing of the survivor's whereabouts. "All the pieces come together on this one, The End!" his British accent boomed, striking fear into each of the ex-groundskeeper's hearts. Death neglected to put away his shades, them seeming to make him look more menacing, but revved up his bike anyway. Pulling the hood back over his head, he sped off, seemingly uninterested in the survivors. However, the creatures did not share his disinterest. An earth-shattering howl came from below, and one of the lizard beasts jumped forward, inhuman abilities propelling it. Mordecai and Pops winced, waiting for it to be over, but Skips would not roll over. Not now, not ever.

As a leathery talon grasped the shingles of the roof, its face crashed through the window, ready to strike. However, a swift hit from the yeti drove it back instantly, causing it to lose its grip on the roof and crashing to the porch below. None of them had noticed, but the creatures stood at least six feet tall _while on all fours._

"Those things are massive! What the hell are we gonna do!?" Mordecai screeched. Skips was much more calm and reserved, tossing him a rifle nonchalantly as if nothing were happening.

"Same as we always do, we fight,"

"But bullets don't hurt those _things,_" Pops intervened. "The Shadows lost in only a few minutes, and they had jets, for god's sake!"

"I'll tell you something they didn't have, though," the yeti's eyes squinted. "Heart," before either of the two could reply, he was already out the window, dashing towards the ravenous beasts in fury.

"I guess we jus-" the blue-jay had failed to notice the undead filing in the doorway. "Shit!" their shots weren't seeming to have any effect, each one dropping being replaced by three more.

"Mordecai, what do we do?!" Pop's was frantic, finishing off his last round into the horde. As if it were a sign from heaven, the roof above the zombies collapsed, killing every last one. However, what rose from the rubble was no angel; One of the reptilian demons picked itself up, seeming to brush itself, when it finally noticed the two. It roared in fury, leaping towards them with lightning agility, and the rounds expended were futile at best. In a matter of seconds, Mordecai found himself pinned to the floor, filthy saliva dripping from the creature's mouth and onto his body. After around ten seconds, he realized it was not going to strike. Carefully opening one eye to look up, he really wished he hadn't; Two, glowing red eyes met his gaze, entrancing him hypnotically. Feeling the loss of control in his body, he attempted to fight it, but was already limp. The creature released him, sprinting elsewhere after more dangerous targets in a matter of moments, but the bird was still unable to move, restricted to looking around and witnessing the action. Suddenly, the lollipop man appeared in his vision.

"Mordecai, thank god you're alive. Are you alright?" he was very concerned.

"-Yeah, I think I'm okay..." _What the fuck? _His mind was racing, so very confused and terrified at this moment. His brain was still intact, but he had no control whatsoever of his body, it seeming to stand up in its own free will. "I'm good," the shell chuckled, much to its owners' dismay. Mordecai wasn't speaking, but his body seemed to for him. _What the hell is happening? _It was then the voice appeared in his subconscious.

"_Yes. You are mine now. You are mine..."_

_"What the fuck!? What's going on!?"_

_"You will do as I command you to. You are mine," _His sentient body didn't seem to notice the two voices bickering inside it in the least, stepping outside into the chaos with the lollipop man close behind.

"Pops!" the body spoke, much to Mordecai's dismay. _Oh god, what's gonna happen!? _The hollow vessel thumbed over its weapon carefully, leering menacingly at the old man.

"Yes, Mordecai?"

_"Finish it," _the demon was harsh and raspy in his subconscious.

_Pops! No! _His inner screams did nothing to stop the action that followed, unwillingly firing one round into his friend's gargantuan head. However, it wasn't over yet.

_"...__***gasp***__...sputter...Morde—cai?" _his life was suspended by a thread, somehow managing to survive.

_Pops, god no! Stop! _The bird's pleas were helpless, now being fully possessed by the monster.

"Oh, you're alive," the malevolent vessel spoke without emotion. "I can fix that," _Fuck, no!_

_**BLAM!**_

It was over, Pops now dead as well. However, as soon as the shot was fired, Mordecai instantaneously regained control over his body.

"Oh god, no...What have I done?!" he was on his knees sobbing, not giving a second glance to the carnage occurring around him. Before long, a sympathetic hand found its way to his shoulder.

"Skips? *s_niff..._" the yeti's fur was stained with the blood of the beasts, having killed several already. The leaking portal, however, ensured that he had not even made a dent yet.

"You weren't prepared for this at all. Those voices I hear, those are from the leviathans. No mere mortal can fight their hypnotic control. Even I have difficulty!"

the beasts had focused their rampage towards property damage now, seemingly allowing the two a moment to themselves.

"What-what have I done? I killed him, I'll-" the immortal being stifled him.

"It wasn't you who did this to Pops. You have to realize that, or this will haunt you forever," he peered carefully over the old man's corpse. "I feel terrible too, but unless we stop that portal, Pops' death will have been in vain," sighing deeply, Mordecai nodded, standing to his feet.

It was then the undead noted their presence and began converging. The Leviathans acknowledged them as well, releasing whatever it was they were destroying to fight. In that moment, that brief moment, the calm before the storm, everything stopped. All of the zombies and reptilian beasts were frozen mid-attack and Mordecai realized how far he'd come from the beginning. He remember the times he had crazy misadventures with his raccoon friend, he remembered always dreading seeing Muscle Man, Benson and the likes, and finally, he remembered the coffee shop and his crush who worked there. He would have given anything for it to be like that once again, fighting off Snowballs the ice monster or winning the Maximum Glove at the Ferguson Convention. Hell, at this point, he would've loved to have been chewed out by Benson, but all of that was gone. In those cryptic last moments, another thought slid into his mind. _Everything is gone. It always will be, too..._

The storm had now risen, all tranquility replaced by rage and fear. In an onslaught of epic proportions, through blood and sweat and teeth and hell, they fought. With each hit precise and clean, Mordecai dropped a dozen zombies without even trying. Skips focused his attention on the stronger assailants, taking on three Leviathans at once. His fists were kryptonite and the beasts mutant Supermen, each one dropping from the yeti's powerful blows. Though they would never retreat, each time they were knocked back, they became considerably weaker. Mordecai would have questioned how Skips was so powerful, but he had bigger fish to fry at this point, the threat of being overrun now very plausible.

"Skips!" his rifle rattled off five more shots, the sixth releasing only a click. "I'm out!" he shouted, frantically sprinting to escape the undead. Despite his best efforts, dozens more filed out of the portal, along with the occasional Leviathan. Finally, he found comfort in holding onto the bloodied immortal, who had now finished all three of the beasts off. "They just keep coming, man! What are we gonna do?"

"If we can't stop the portal, we have to stop the man who controls it," at this sentence, the world began trembling, the sky now casting a red glow on everything. The entire army that was attacking them stopped in their tracks, seeming to bow before their impending leader. All of the Leviathans gazed on at them menacingly, but did not move an inch. It was then the engines began rumbling again.

"Hehehe, someone called?" the demon cycle seemed to appear from thin air, idling right beside them. The slender figure of the reaper stepped off carefully, appearing much taller and insidious than he had before. It was as though he was gaining power from the destruction wrought upon this dimension, as shown by his wildly flowing hair as he began to levitate off the ground.

"So, you want to save everything, eh? Fat chance, hehe," he was at least ten feet in the air as he sneered at them, an unearthly yellow glow engulfing him. When Mordecai glanced over to Skips fearfully, he noticed his teeth gritting.

"Get down here and finish this," he called back. Though he didn't appear happy at the thought, Death fell to the ground, ready to fight 'fair,' or at least whatever he considered it.

"Alright, let's do this," he chuckled insidiously, ripping off his leather jacket and revealing his one, extremely toned arm. Stepping forward, he grinned. "No backing out now, eh?" he chuckled. As he laughed whole-heartedly, he didn't expect the blow to come forward so early.

His jaw had small cracks forming upon it as he hit the ground in pain, clutching his face.

"_Oye! _That was cheap!"

"If you thought that was cheap, you're gonna love this," the yeti leaped forward with lightning speed, sending a single foot of iron into his sides and shattering several ribs. The next kick, however, didn't go as expected. The skeletal hand rubbed over his leg as he latched on, sending several bony fingers into his skin. His attempts to scream were futile, as Death was already upon him.

"You think you can be cheap? Ha! You've still got a lesson or two learn," his shades were off in only a second, green mist flowing from his eye sockets. Several screams of the damned were audible as the souls traveled into Skips' mouth and through his body. Going into a sputtering fit, the yeti attempted to stand, but Death's body seemed to weigh thousands of pounds as he sat atop him. "What's the matter, eh? Don't like it when someone else cheats!?" Mordecai sprinted forward to tackle the reaper, but a scaly talon caught him in the chest, effectively clotheslining him. When he finally mustered the courage to open his eyes, he noticed the Leviathan gazing over him. However, its disinterest showed it had no intentions to hurt him.

"Death, you...*ach*...you can't do this," Skips' life seemed to fade from his body as he spoke.

"What's stopping me, eh?" the reaper spoke menacingly, chortling as he did so. "This day couldn't have come sooner. I've been waiting so long to say this, hehe," his grin grew even wider. "_**Your soul is mine,**_" both Mordecai and Death had failed to notice Skips' last vial clutched in his hands. With the only strength left, he weakly tossed it out, releasing the noxious cloud of gases. Mordecai knew he would feel guilty for the rest of his life for doing so, but he fled to shelter to escape. "What is this? The Plague Cowell was working on?" it began to spread slowly, several of Death's undead ranks dropping dead. "No matter. You will perish too, but the portal can always release mo-_hack! _Oye, what's in this stuff?" the reaper stumbled backwards, covering his mouth as he did so. "How is this aff-_*cough-_" he continued to fall backwards on himself, desperately attempting to find clean air. Unfortunately, he was talking to no one, Skips already gone. "*_**HACK!**_" Finally, in his last moments, Death keeled over as well, having somehow succumbed to Cowell's life work despite being a supernatural being. Mordecai was already back into the house, weeping gently into his cupped hands. It was then the undead moans caught his ear.

[XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXXxxXXxxXxxxXx xX]

Directly outside, the portal became unstable. More of the undead ranks and Leviathans poured out, each one met with a painful demise. Soon, it became even more ruptured, allowing nothing in or out. In its final moments, all was still as it silently imploded. No one witnessed it, but even if they had, it wouldn't have been interesting. No massive fiery explosion, no supernova of galactic proportions. It merely imploded, no longer allowing anything in or out. The dozens of bodies lay outside, only three of them significant to anyone involved in the fight; Pops lay nearby, two gaping holes in his head, no longer bleeding. Skips sat in the middle of a circle of undead, body being slowly consumed by the cloud. Several feet over laid the body of a god, Death himself. It was a wonder the Plague had even affected him.

[XxXxXxXxXXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxXx ]

The dull cries and moans grew nearer as the bird carefully fumbled through his pack, searching desperately for Ari's service revolver. After a few moments, his fingertips slid over the cold metal of the weapon bestowed upon him, pulling it out with ease.

"_For two years that revolver has seen no use. I really hope it can stay that way,_" running his fingers over the sleek metal, he imagined how disappointed Ari would be, but put it to his temple anyway.

The seconds leading up to it were like years, and he felt his confidence melting away. "God, I'm sorry..." He clenched his eyes tightly shut. "...I'm sorry I couldn't save you all. Margaret, Rae...Benson, Pops...Skips, Rigby..." the last one on the list made him tear up a bit, but the dull thuds on the door drove him back to his demented reality. In his final desperate effort, he squeezed his finger back with all the courage he could muster.

_Click._

A single eye opened, revealing everything as it was before, with only one slight change. The moans and scratching at the door were no longer apparent. After several minutes passed, he stood up and walked towards the entryway, expecting something even worse to be lurking in wait for him. However, upon opening it, he noticed both zombies dead for some reason he could not explain. He was surprised and afraid at the same time, but finally turned around to face the window, carefully stepping over his bosses' deceased body as he did so. When he looked outside, he saw the most inspiring sight he had seen in years; Every single zombie and Leviathan outside was dead, now just a massive pile of corpses strewn about the landscape. The vortex releasing the monsters had ceased, and vaguely, he could make out the figure of Death in the distance lying on the ground. After thinking solemnly for a few moments, he turned his attention to the fraudulent gun he had attempted to use, a single bullet falling to the ground as he opened the chamber. Upon closer inspection, he realized the bullet was not real either, but it did split into two pieces for some reason. After pulling it apart, a small note fell to the floor from the inside of it. Eying over it carefully, the bird unfolded it to see what mysteries it could behold.

"If you're reading this, I want you to know this much; There isn't a time in life when you can just stand up and walk away from everything. There is never a time like that, and this time right now is no different. Things may be hard, but that doesn't give you any right to walk away, GODAMNIT! You've persevered this long, and that isn't easy, I assure you. Sometimes you feel like giving up, but you can't. You can't just leave everything you worked for to achieve, you can't just leave those who care about you behind. Hell, even if they left you behind, you still need to see the light. You reading this tells me that you have hit rock bottom and just wanted to end it, but that isn't okay. Even in the darkest tunnel, there is light. Why close the book when things get tense? You still have a story to finish...

-Ari"

Standing wide-eyed, he dropped the revolver to the ground beside him, speechless. Gazing back out towards the window with a newfound sliver of hope, he now noticed that Death's body was absent from where it had laid before. The though haunted him a bit, but the worst thing at this point was the fact that he was alone now. His entire group, everyone he had grown to love and care for, all of them were dead now. He couldn't quite understand what it was about Ari's words that inspired him to move on, but he knew for some strange reason he had to continue, despite "The End." Looking out one last time, he saw something unbelievable. Lying beside Skips' ragged and broken body, a small ember cackled. Directly behind it stood a short, brown figure. Its fur was untarnished, and Mordecai would have recognized it anywhere. The sly silhouette shot him a grin, and he knew that his eyes had to be deceiving him at this point. At the first rub, he opened them again, scanning over the area where the apparition had stood, expectantly finding nothing. It was at this point the words struck him.

"I'll see you again someday, buddy. Beside the dying fire,"

Before he had any time to ponder the strange event, the door creaked open. Turning with his fists ready, acting only on instinct, what appeared before him was definitely no zombie. In that singular moment, he felt more inspired than he ever could have before, a new sliver of hope shining into the future. As mentioned before, what appeared before him was no zombie. No, what appeared before him was more of a _ghost._

**Woo! It's over guys, I'm sorry about that, but I hope you have enjoyed the ride! I didn't mean to kill off this many people, but it just seemed to fit the story best at that point. I really hope you guys liked it, and I thank you all for the constant support. After this, I don't know what story I'll make next, but I hope you stick around to find out. As always, read, review, and stay awesome! (*if you couldn't figure out what I meant by the ending, as apparent by a review, it's High Five Ghost. And on a totally unrelated note, I've made a website that seems to be lacking traffic, so if you guys could, check it out, like us on facebook, and more! :D)**

** rapture  
**

**Stay beautiful! (Horrible Spongebob impression)**

**-BlakeyBoy**


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